


Pride

by Kazia0002



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Modern, Modern Girl in Thedas, Rape, Romance, Time Travel, attempted suicide, more on the realistic side (darker issues), non-con, travelling between worlds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-04-28 16:04:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 61
Words: 270,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5096750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kazia0002/pseuds/Kazia0002
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joanne is, at a first glance, a typical student. She balances work, studying, and her boyfriend with marginal success. What makes her unusual are her dreams, which take her across fantastic realms, allowing to witness splendours and marvels beyond compare. Until one day, she catches curiosity of someone who is more than he appears.</p><p>Unusual take on modern girl in Thedas concept – through the ages. Thedas is another realm, not a game here.<br/>Warnings: angsty, slow-burn, rape: non-con, nothing explicit though. AU. Lore and events mostly upheld, with twists and changes; more significant in the Inquisition-era.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dreaming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is a result of many, many hours of writing; and even more hours of merely thinking and considering the storyline. I have spent a lot of time before writing each and every scene. These are far from perfect, and, as of yet, early chapters are under revision. My writing style changed - and I very much hope, improved - over the course past months, and I hope the updates will make the story flow better.  
> I welcome, and encourage, all comments. I love reading them, they're a huge motivation to continue with my writing. So please, do not hesitate from leaving me some of your impressions.

  **Dreaming Pride**

Opening the door, I stumble into my flat, cursing loudly at the world in general, and weather in particular. The day has been a hellish nightmare, right from the start. I hate Mondays, 

It started off with a thunderstorm, wind whipping like a lash at the hapless travellers trying to reach their destinations. I was thoroughly drenched by the time I arrived at my workplace, and got treated to a stern glare from receptionist, as I dripped all over the priceless carpet. Under her weighty gaze, I scrambled off to change into my uniform, feeling small and unworthy.

The Hotel’s clientele had been particularly troublesome, and I received a lengthy, heated lecture from one of the patrons, who, red on the face and with raised fists, screamed his dissatisfaction with the service. I had troubles comprehending what was the actual problem, as from his words, **everything** was subpar and not meeting his expectations.

After the work I had to rush to the University, with my wet clothes close-clinging to my skin, much to my distaste. The rain had subsided, but the gusts were unrelenting, and with chattering teeth I prepared myself for the inevitable. I just **knew** I would get sick from all this. I've even begun constructing well-rounded sentences in my head I would offer in explanation during the coming days.

The professors’ intent that day was to wring us back dry. I had a hard time recalling any of what I had read of the assigned papers, which resulted - predictably - in me getting steamrolled in front of the group without mercy. I detest being made a fool of, even if the criticism was well deserved.

And then, on the way back, I got into pointless argument with a clearly battle-hardened elderly lady who was convinced I had pushed her on purpose. The very idea reviled me, and as my nerves snapped, I replied harshly, instead of simply ignoring her. Of course, that only edged the woman on, and she screeched derisive words for the next ten minutes of the ride. I was glad to be gone from it, even as I walked back out into cold once more.

Removing my coat, I throw it over the chair in the kitchen, to let it dry. I stretch, groaning, and make a beeline for bathroom, scattering clothes about the corridor. Once soaked in the warm water, I let out a contented sigh, slowly rubbing my favourite lavender soap into my body. I leave close to an hour later, relaxed, but already feeling the beginnings of a budding headache. I pick up my phone from the handbag, impatiently scrolling over facebook notifications. Tim sent me an invitation to a bar hang-out, but running a hand through my wet hair, I reject him summarily, adding a few scathing remarks about the weather.

I feel much too exhausted for anything else, so I enter my bedroom, and sprawl myself over the bed, asleep in a matter of seconds.

My dreams are, unusually I suppose, vivid and bright in colours. I had spent over a year continuing a particular imaginary story of mine, observing a life of a youth who trained dragons. He had begun from merely a stable boy, but through hard work and determination rose to the ranks of the prominent, meriting himself a dragon of his own, and a hand of his beau. I was cheering him on, as I flittered around his life, through hardships and happiness, up until he got himself an heir to continue the family’s honour. Then the visions changed, and I let go of my Crimson Knight, and turned to face another, fantastic, adventure.

This time the new world is saturated in strange light. I look up, and open my mouth surprised at how high the skies seem, coated in a slightly greenish aura. I take a breath of air, fresh and clean, and turn to explore, when suddenly a child’s voice stops me.

‘Ahn elgar ma?’

Well, that is certainly new. Never before had I been able to interact with people in my dreams. I face the direction of the voice, and correct my initial assumption. Not a human, then, but something akin to an elf, with pointy ears and lithe body structure, though never before had I seen a child so beautiful. Of course, the language barrier is something of a hassle.

‘I don’t understand you’ I reply evenly, and his eyes widen a fraction. He literally sparkles with interest, and as I remember from my favourite books how people learned languages, I recreate the steps slowly. I point out an object, say the word, and wait for his translation. It is an arduous process, but I find myself captivated in the beauty of his speech, and slowly yet surely make a steady progress.

Time passes in my dream world, but of course it’s a dream, so I don’t feel tired. My guide, on the other hand, takes breaks, for food and rest. Wherever he goes, he always returns, as I walk around impatiently; until one day I suddenly break out of our reverie, when a ringing noise assaults me ears.

‘I’ve got to go’ I tell him, even though there's no way for him to possibly understand.

And I wake up.

With an annoyed groan, I throw a pillow at the alarm clock, still loud. A crash, and the offending sound is gone. Emotionlessly, I glance at the wreckage – yep, I’ll have to replace it. Neither the first nor the last one which has not survived my sour mood after awakening.

The day is spent in a restless daze, as the words ring through my head, clear and unforgettable and melodious. I have heard that people normally forget most of what they had dreamed of – that has never been the case with me. I walk with my head in clouds, reminiscing the wonders of the new world I’m to explore, drawn to my pencils like a moth to flame. I end up scribbling disjointed sketches on random scraps of paper, and earn an earful from my boss for it. I shrug it off a bit distractedly – I did deserve it, but I am not planning on dwelling. The realm from my imagination has me enthralled yet again.

I return home early, and try to do justice to the golden haired elfling I saw in my dreams, bringing life on canvas. What comes out is far from what I saw – the figure too bulky and proportions a bit skewed – but I managed to capture the curiosity in his eyes, so all in all it’s not a terrible first attempt. I know I will try again, over and over until I get it right. My Crimson Knight had been portrayed at all crucial moments of his life, and some of the results brought back a bit of coin. Of course, my favourite moment, preserved, hangs over my bed – a child extending its hand to young dragon for the very first time. I hope that I will be able to experience similar elation with my elfling as well.

Finally, I feel like my hands are dying on me, so I put the brushes away and fix myself a quick meal. Afterwards, I lie down with my head in a textbook – soon, exams will begin, and I’ve yet to finish preparations. Once I feel my eyes involuntarily dropping, I put it away on the table next to the bed.

I open my eyes once again at the green glade surrounded by trees, and look around for the signs of the elfling. I sigh with regret once I fail to find him, but make my way through, depending on my gut feeling – if my dreams led me to him in the first place, surely I will encounter him again. The forest’s flora is similar to Earth, pine-like trees spiking up, and some type of moss spreading on the ground. There’s a barely visible trail leading through, and once I pick up the signs of it, my passage becomes much easier, as no longer do I have to follow the sun to ensure one direction.

I find a small hut, covered in leaves - a workshop, I find out once I peek through the window. Crates, strangely looking tools, and a loud clangs of someone working from the inside. I knock uneasily, and even though my hand goes through the wooden material, me being incorporeal here and all, the sound spreads normally, as if I had actually touched the wood. Strange, but I am glad for it, as I have no desire to intrude uninvited.

I’m astonished, and delighted, to see the little angel-like child open the door – and he seems overjoyed as well. He ushers me inside with an impatient wave of hand, and we begin a tentative conversation – full of holes and gestures and grimaces, but as my vocabulary starts to fill up, more and more complicated. I find out the workshop is his, and he shows me what he is working on – a device of some sort which I am unable to comprehend. I’m shocked to see him use something akin to magic to light the thing, and it begins to glow with an unusual shade of blue. Unless it’s just very advanced technology – sometimes it’s hard to tell. I have dreamed of worlds with one or the other, as well as those where both of them clashed, often warring. 

My progress with the language has been considerable, but it leaves me partially frustrated as well. I cannot seem to produce the same musical notes while speaking as he does, no matter how hard I try.

The next weeks pass for me in similar manner, as I spend the nights with my dreams, and days trying to recreate the wonders of the new place I stumbled into. Of course, because work and University take precedence, my social life suffers. I praise my luck that it had all begun when Jeff was out of the country, and will be gone for a month yet. My boyfriend detests it when I stumble into one of my ‘fucking trances’ as he calls them. Hopefully, by the time he is back, I will be more accustomed to the new treasure I've discovered to not annoy him overmuch.

My friends, on the other hand, are already used to my eccentricities – those that remained as such, after all those years. Both Tim and Lydia give me space once I inform them excitedly that I found new inspiration, and await with impatience the stories I will tell them once the dream finishes. I’m grateful to have such understanding friends, though it helps, I suppose, that Tim was quite invested in the adventures of the Charming Rogue, as I dubbed another one of my other favourites, while Lydia adored the good deeds of the Girl with The Matches. I had given them some of the paintings to illustrate my stories, and I know for a fact both of them treasure the little worlds I share with them.

Finally, after two months, though through my dreamworld I have an impression of years having passed, I am capable of holding an actual conversation with my elfling, though my accent is still terrible. He asks one day,

‘ _What manner of spirit are you?_ ’

‘ _I am not certain_ ’ I reply truthfully, fighting off the urge to touch the fluffy golden hair surrounding the angelic face of the child. Pointless. I’m not sure I fully comprehend what is he asking about.

‘ _You look strange_ ’ he informs me pitifully, taking a closer look at my nightgown, and suddenly I feel a bit self-conscious. It is only a boy, I berate myself, fighting off an urge to cover myself with something more substantial. I can’t do it either way, as even if I found a way to pick it up, it would have fallen right through me. Wishes go a long way, here, however, as suddenly the illusion of my attire lengthens, allowing for more modesty. 

‘ _Do you have a name?_ ’ he inquiries, tilting his head. 

My name is dreadfully long and unwieldy. I cannot comprehend why my parents felt it fit to bestow such a plain creature as myself with a grand name like Joanne, and typically, I shorten it to Anne, for mine and other’s comfort. But this is my dream, and I can be whomever I want, so I think on the answer carefully.

‘ _Call me Fean’Na_ ’ I reply finally, after my favourite character from a story – because why the hell not. I could be Fean’Na here, in this clear cut, fresh world, and it resembles the melodious ring of the language he taught me – slightly.

The boy nods sagely, unusually serious for his age.

‘ _I’m June_ ’ he informs me. ‘ _Come, Fean’Na.’_ The mischievous twinkle in his eyes disarms me. _‘You shall be my assistant, from now on._ ’

I giggle at his commanding tone of voice, ill-fitting such a small being, but follow nonetheless, curious.

June of my dream is somewhat more special than I expected, working magic on many inventions, in spite of his apparent youth – a magic unlike anything I had ever seen, even in movies. I am becoming amazed with my own creativity, as I listen to his detailed explanations, nodding at the appropriate points, and urging him to go on.

He admits to being a poor student, as he always finds experimentations more interesting and at the same time… well, distracting.

Even as removed from his reality as I am, I know it is not the right outlook, so I lecture him on the importance of basics. It would allow him to better comprehend what he is actually experimenting with, I explain. At first he is not convinced, so I illustrate it with a simple example, drawing on the mechanics of the world I had observed – aside from the minor issue of magic, it does not differ drastically from Earth.

The ringing alarm brings me back yet again far too soon.

I am vaguely aware that the passage of time is far from linear between here and my real life – one time, when I visit him, he accuses me of not appearing for three years, and I gape with astonishment, because I had just seen him the night before, and why didn’t he change at all during this period of time?

I am disbelieving when he claims to be over two hundred years old, already. My mind refuses to cope with the information, so I stick with my initial impression instead – he looks like a ten year old, behaves like one – thus he is ten, even if here it equals to two hundred.

The ability to interact with the dream throws me off-balance. I’m forgetting, for the first time during my entire life, that he is not real, and there are times when I seek to touch him, only to feel my fingers slipping through. One day, he cries sorrowfully, after having been scolded by his father. I desperately wish to console him – he reminds me of my own little brother just then, curled up and sobbing. But I can’t, so I settle on telling him fantastic stories of my past dreams, and after a while he is engrossed in the tale of the Charming Rogue, who with his cunning and wiles had managed to steal the heart of the princess. The hurt of the unjust – as he claims – punishment is not gone, but it is no longer so close to the surface. Once the initial emotional outburst passes, I’m certain it will be easier to deal with.

The spring exam session is like a lightning on a sunny day, shocking and terrifying and unexpected. It is then that I realize my dreams of the world June calls Thedas have lasted three months already, and from the looks of it, will take a long time still, as he has yet to achieve anything of note. I doubt I’ll be able to accompany him his entire life, as with the Crimson Knight, since he bragged about his near immortality, which I’m clearly not. I sadden at the thought of losing the sight of him one day, but soon shake it off – my livid imagination is a gift, whatever glimpses it allows me to catch. With some heroes, I had been able to witness only one specific deed, before my dreams took me off elsewhere, but it had always been worth witnessing.

Nonetheless, the they are a distraction, one a student as lazy as me during the semester cannot afford to have during the crucial month. I always cram up the learning at the last possible moment, so with regret, I turn to the already tried method, and take sleeping pills. The artificial sleep, for some, is a place of nightmares – for me it means being cut off from my explorations, a fate which, if I had been caught in it infinitely, would have surely crippled me. I detest it.

Jeff likes when I’m on the pill.

‘I’m finally having you for myself’ he says, eyeing me as I reach out for the package. My hand freezes as I send him a shocked glance, before asking with blatant ridicule,

‘You suspect me of cheating on you with my **imaginary** constructs?’

‘That’s not what I meant!’ Jeff exclaims in irritation, and I straighten, feeling my spine stiffening, startled by his anger. We have our fights, certainly, but usually he is more reasonable. With a huff, I snatch the tablet, and take a gulp of water to wash it down, before glaring at him expectantly. I await explanation.

‘There are times when I think you are more interested in life of strangers than ours’ he admits sighing dejectedly, and my irritation with him evaporates, as I feel a wave of guilt at causing him so much distress.

‘And this time, in particular, you have gone far deeper than ever before.’

I remain quiet, as I cannot, in good conscience, deny the truth of his words. I make a promise to myself to reassure him of my devotion to him, and to **us,** more often. My grades take a slight downturn, but it is a small price to pay for salvaging our relationship. What I regret the most is that I had not realized it was necessary. As I snuggle next to him, I make him swear he will not keep his hurts hidden from me anymore.

But something in me weeps at his lack of understanding. I love the man, and it saddens me that he cannot accept me for what I am, a dreamer lost in her fantasy and a painter expressing her journeys. There will come a day when I will have to decide between him and my soul’s desire, and deep inside, I know the choice has already been made.

Considering the nature of the projects I have to catch up with, it takes well over a month before I can return to my dreaming. I am a bit nervous when putting my head on the pillow without the medications. I had warned June, of course, that my visits would stop – even if he is only a figment of my imagination, it felt unfair to do otherwise. I do not think he understood my reasoning, as he threw a hurtful fit at the news, and then was sullen for the remainder of my last visit. I do not know if he would even want to see me again, for years must have passed, and I was merely a flicker in his life. Moreover, I am uncertain whether the fantasy will even take me back to Thedas in the first place. It is the unfortunate risk of pills – sometimes, I am unable to find my way back to the dream.

This time, at least, my worries prove wrong, and I find myself at the same glade I always seem to wind up on. But is it the same place? It is surrounded by strange, polished boulders, glimmering with a silvery runes June once showed me, and for a moment I feel the strange jolt of energy passing through me – the first physical interaction I have with this world, aside from breathing, which is more of a habit than actual need.

I am left a bit shaken by the experience, and as I regather myself, suddenly, a loud voice filled with joy assaults me.

‘ _Fean’Na!’_

I turn around, and gape at the sight. No longer a child, but a teen at the prime of his youth, then. The golden hue of his hair and blue of his eyes remain unchanged, but he had gained in height and weight, able to meet my eyes squarely instead of straining his neck to look up. I smile a little uncertainly, unsure how to address this very much changed June.

‘ _You left me alone for a long, long time_ ’ he whines not unlike his younger self, and suddenly, it is no longer so strange, as I flitter my fingers over his matured yet still childlike features, bemused. We sit down on the grass, even though the stones surrounding us make me feel cornered. Creepy.

 _‘June, I told you before that your concept of time eludes me’_ I explain myself lightly. I had long come to terms that this world somehow differs from my previous dreams, but still, the concept of alternate realities boggles my mind far too much to allow for in-depth contemplation. _‘How long is **long**?’_

He huffs with irritation.

 _‘Well over hundred years had passed since I last saw you’_ he informs me accusingly, and yet again, the number is far too large to wrap my mind around it. So I don’t. He waits for any response, but as I have none, he shrugs and abandons the topic.

 _‘I had grown!’_ The pride in his voice makes me laugh, as he takes on a peculiar tone. He is fishing for compliments, and I can’t resist baiting him a little.

 _‘I can see that’_ I keep my tone teasingly neutral, and he pouts.

 _‘I’m joking’_ I snort at his expression. _‘You had blossomed beyond my expectations, child.’_

He has a conflicted expression, beaming at the praise and slightly offended at the reminder of his youth. But I’m not lying, he is growing out of child-like angelic features, turning into strikingly handsome young man. His voice had also deepened slightly, losing some of its previous sweetness, far more suitable for the man he will one day become.  

He spends time with me recounting his endeavours of the past years. I listen with apt fascination, as he describes the process of creating a go-between reality, a shortcut between distances. He admits to starting on it from the moment I described the teleportation, as I saw it, from one of my past adventures. I praise his creativity, and start retelling a story from my home, as I went to see my parents.

 _‘Do not leave again’_ suddenly leaves June’s mouth, and I stop mid-sentence, surprised, and saddened by the desperation in his voice.

 _‘I cannot promise you that’_ I reply as gently as possible, trying to get a hold of his hand reassuringly, but of course, failing. My fingers hover above his hand, but neither of us feels anything.

His eyes grow cold, as he drawls,

_‘I see.’_

So unlike the June I knew before!

He looks at me in a strangely calculating manner, and I feel a sudden chill running up my spine. Unable to hold his frosty gaze anymore, I turn to look at the setting sun, and the reddish skies.

 _‘But I promise you, I will do my best to return.’_ I murmur finally. He mulls over that, before mollifying slightly. 

It is with a heavy heart that I wake up. I hurt June, I can see that much, though by no fault of my own.

Jeff is also far from pleased with me, as he glances at the untouched pill left by the plate, and then back at me. He rises his eyebrow, and I shrug uncomfortably – I’m not going to deny a part of myself for his satisfaction. Jeff grits his teeth, straining the stress lines on his face, and with a disdainful glare he leaves the bedroom without a word.

The day turns out to be disastrous, as I nearly lose my job, a result of a customer complaint. I’m told it’s my last chance, and brace myself to look for an alternative as a backup.

It is nearly summer, but here, by the sea, the breeze remains cold and harsh. Shaking off the unpleasant cold, I take a quick shower before setting out to paint. My previous depictions of June found quite a lot of support, so I can imagine how much more commotion this grown-up look of his will cause. And I like preserving moments from beyond on my canvas. 

The pang resounding from the corridor informs me that Jeff is home, and indeed, soon he passes by my workroom on his way to bedroom. I ignore him in favour of the image in front of me, the atmosphere between us still strained after morning. I am so engrossed, I do not realize he had entered the room until he stands over my shoulder and I can literally taste the displeasure he oozes, looking at my work.

‘There’s no human that’s this perfect’ Jeff comments derisively, as I try, and fail, to capture the expressiveness of June’s eyes.

‘June’s no human’ I counter evenly, before taking a step away from my painting, and eyeing it critically. ‘And I’m unable to do him justice.’

He rolls his eyes at that, and I proceed to ignore him, washing the paint off my fingers with a dissolvent. Jeff sighs heavily, before leaving my sanctuary, and I hear the door behind him close. I lift my hand critically to the light of the lamp, and sure enough, my nails are breaking and splitting. Too much of acetone, I suppose. I spent a while trying to help their sorry state, before giving up, and cutting them off.

By the time I get to bed, my boyfriend is long asleep. Just as well, I am in no mood for serious conversation after today.

I fluff my pillow, lie down, and breathe evenly, as darkness envelops me.


	2. Caged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ASSUMPTIONS:  
> 1\. Thedas is the sole continent, a whole world of DA.  
> 2\. Original Inquisition timeline is around 8 years, and not 2 years, like it is according to Wiki.

**Caged Pride**

Again I feel a shock running up my incorporeal body, as the stones activate. I speculate it’s June’s invention to detect my arrival, and am soon proved right by his appearance. He is surprisingly high spirited, considering how bitter he was when we were parting. Then again, I do not know how much time had passed – maybe he simply got over it. I’m astonished by his proposal to show me his hometown, as thus far he had not introduced me to any of his kin - or no one at all. I assumed he was the only one gifted with the ability to see spirits, or one of the very few.

A curious creature, I accept gratefully. I always enjoy seeing more of the worlds I appear in. We trek to his workshop, where the device he spoke of previously, Eluvian, is set up.

It appears to be a large mirror, yet the moment June speaks a convoluted password phrase, it ripples, like a disturbed water. To my stonishment, it stops reflecting us, showing a winding upwards pathway instead. He takes a step through, and motions for me to join him.

The Crossroads, he calls a peculiar plane of existence we are entering. Indeed, trails and roads cross, hanging mid-air by some unfathomable force, and at the end of most of them, a large mirror, a doorway, stands. I would have strained my head had I been corporeal, as I try to take in everything around me. I see some empty paths, and look to him in question.

 _‘They’re still unfinished’_ June blushes, embarrassed.

 _‘It’s amazing, June. No doubt you will complete your work in no time’_ I praise him, amazed, and he beams at me happily.   

 _‘Though  you could liven up this place a little’_ I suggest, glancing at boring greys and straight lines. He shrugs, muttering that as long as its practical he does not mind. Others can take care of it, if they have a problem. I rise my eyebrow at that, doubtful that the ability to manipulate realities is a common thing around here, regardless how easy he makes it sound. 

The artist in me strongly disagrees with his opinion, but I keep it to myself. It is only expected that June cannot be gifted in **everything** , clearly, he is an invention genius beyond compare, and refinement is not a crucial quality. 

We pass through another mirror, and I find myself in a chamber of elaborate palace. It’s built from marble-like stone with green veins, and I turn my head in wonder, admiring the sculptured details and the play of light on it. June leads me through the corridor with certainty of a tenant, and I grow slightly uneasy, as never before had I felt the vibes of a prince from him. He is pretty authoritative for his age, but what noble’s son would be allowed to play with dangerous experiments?

I’m distracted from my musings by the window, and with a squeal of glee worthy of a little girl, I realize that I’m in a **floating** palace. The view is spectacular, and I am reluctant to abandon it, even as June taps impatiently, hurrying me along. We enter a huge throne room, where a woman with an uncanny resemblance to the boy leading me takes a central place, with a large, black wolf beside her. I’m startled by the intensity with which she regards me, as we close the distance.

June sweeps into an elaborate curtsy, while I bow gracelessly, feeling terribly out of depth. I had not had the pleasure of audience with a ruling monarch before, and find myself both unsettled, and terrified.

 _‘All-Mother, this is Fean’Na.’_ The acoustics in this place are great, and his clear voice easily resounds across the room – he could have spoken from the door just as well, and be heard perfectly.

 _‘I see. What do you think, my friend?’_ she turns to the wolf, who slowly raises his head from his paws, staring at me with just as much of an intent as she had before.   

 _‘Interesting.’_ I swallow my whimper when he speaks. A fucking talking wolf? He jumps down from the podium in a one smooth move, a graceful flash of black, and suddenly, he is just in front of me.  I jerk back, shocked. He circles me like a predator stalking its pray, before saying,

 _‘June appears to have been right after all, mistress. It is definitely a soul attached to the spirit-like phantom, although…’_ His gaze returns back to me, and I cower under his scrutiny, _‘I cannot fathom how it came about.’_

 _‘She is from a different realm’_ interjects June excitedly.               

Have I told him that? I most certainly have not. I suppose some of my words **could** have been taken in that light, but there are many other, more feasible explanations, and he told me spirits are common in this world. He is uncannily astute, and I swallow a nervous gulp in my throat, suddenly wary.

 It is only now, after all, that I truly face the epiphany I had a while back – my dreaming is not a result of my vivid imagination, I had been, in fact, observing the events happening in other worlds. And he had figured it out, apparently, a while ago. And kept the revelation to himself, in fact, had not asked me any questions regarding my life that could hint at that. Why, why why?

But they are not finished, and I strain to focus on the conversation. I’m missing something here, and I decidedly do not like being kept out of the loop. Especially when it comes to immortal, powerful beings of unknown nature. The books and my dreamings are unanimous - its best to avoid them, if possible. Mortals entangling with the supernatural never end up well.

The lady on the throne waves June’s words away impatience, asking the wolf instead,

_‘Will it work?’_

_‘I do not see any reason why it would not, my lady Mythal. It is a singularly unique case, of course, so there are no guarantees, but…’_ he shrugs in an almost human like way, making his way back up, lying down on a carpet-like bedding by the side of his ... mistress? Owner? 

She looks at me again, before regarding her offspring. Once her gaze shifts, I start to slowly sneak my way towards the exit, trying to avoid drawing their attention.

 _‘Are you quite certain of this, June?’_ Mythal’s melodious voice clearly expresses her disapproval, but June seems unrelenting.

 _‘Yes, mother.’_ I’m but a step away from the doorway, which I could simply pass through and loose myself in the sea of look-alike ghostly spirits, when her penetrating gaze corners me, and I feel sudden paralysis stopping my movement. Shit. Of course, she must have been aware of what was happening the entire time.

_‘Very well.’_

A flick of her wrist, and servants enter, carrying strange, glowing objects. I cannot see them properly, only out of the corner of my eye. I am dreading where it is all leading, and I desperately try to wake up from this nightmare, before it’s too late – whatever that means. Of course, I never really controlled my dreams, and this time, not matter dire circumstances, it’s no different. The paralysis is full – I cannot even speak, plead with them, preparing for the worst. And this worst is hard to define, a large unknown of it all is even more nerve-wreaking. What does the fucking June **want**?

It is much worse than anything I expected. The ritual, or whatever it is, rips me away from my current form, and the loosening connection blinds me with a heart-stopping pain. I would have howled like an animal skewered alive, had it not been for the gag of the paralysis. I desperately wish to **wake up** and escape this horrendous pain, even as, in the back of my head, I realize it’s much too late. Finally, blissfully, I lose consciousness, oblivious to my surroundings.

They say, curiosity killed the cat. In my case, it would be more appropriate to say, curiosity trapped the bird.

Weeks, months, pass, and I beg. I plead. I promise to visit regularly, if only they would allow me back to my world. Mythal just laughs.

 _‘What guarantee is there to ensure you would keep your word?’_ She asks me, and while I swear to her the purity of my intent, internally, I’m filled with despair. For the goddess – because I had misjudged, those capable of wielding such powers are beyond mere immortality - is right, there’s none, and I would surely say anything for them to let me go.  

_‘You are June’s favourite. He had asked for you as his reward after the creation of Eluvians, a feat he attributes to the inspiration you provided him with – how could I refuse? It’s the end of the road, young Realm Traveller.’_

A semblance of pity flickers in her eyes, gone as fast as it appeared, and I let myself out of her audience chambers, dejected, and return to my rooms.  

Then, comes anger.

 _‘What right did she have, to rip me out of my world, my reality?’_ I seethe, detesting the feel of my new body, and the feel of the Fade, pressing against my mind.

They told me it will settle down in time. All spirits who are granted, or achieve on their own, the corporeal existence, face similar difficulties, they say. The sounds are quite distracting, as my senses appear to have heightened significantly, and while improved sight is an easy thing to adjust to, the hearing is much more problematic. I find myself waking to the slightest rustle, and distracted by the ever-accompanying whispers. I am too light on my feet, my movements too quick for my mind to keep up with. Elvhen appear unbound by normal rules, as opposed to Shemlen; quicklings, which is how they call humans.  It leads to accidents, as I trip many times over, unable to coordinate my jerking body. Somehow, by a trick of fate – or maybe because  I’m fleeter than most, used to the gravity of the Earth grounding me, and here, it has a lesser hold – I am able to escape my handlers, most of the time, finding deserted corners of the palace, and try many different tricks to force myself out of here. They all prove fruitless, of course.

In the meantime, I scorn the child, but it doesn’t seem to deter June. He comes to my side uninvited, brags about his accomplishments, or just talks at me – not with me, because I never reply, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge him. But he is just as stubborn, and glows with happiness at my presence, stealing light touches, staring at my face with disturbing fascination, playing with my hair. Treating me like a pet, a new toy, which he can't seem to get enough of.

That’s what I am – a plaything for a young god, a prize for his achievement. An elaborate doll, that, for his entertainment, can think and speak on its own, and that’s why having it is all the more captivating.

Finally, I’m fed up with everything. 

 _‘This is not my body, give it back!’_ I glare at the servants, who scurry away after clothing me as fast as they can. It is not their fault, what their masters did to me – but I’m not feeling particularly generous or fair at the moment. I need to vent my frustration, and in the place of actual culprits, anyone would do.

 _‘You are scaring them’_ I hear a laugh from behind my back, and glare at the black wolf who comes up from behind my back.

 _‘And technically you are wrong’_ he is condescending, but I just growl angrily, unwilling to hear what a **hound** of the fucking Mythal has to say. Disregarding my blatant disinterest, he continues, _‘Had you been born in this world, this would have been your body.’_

 _‘Well, wolf.’_ I am a bit surprised at the revelation actually, but dismiss it with an irritated shrug. _‘The tiny problem is that I had not been born here._ ’ I revile acidly, and stalk off with a huff.   

 _‘Is your former world really that much of a wonder?’_ He calls after me, but I determinately ignore the question, returning back to my rooms.

If I were to be fair, it’s not. Pollution and rush of life, taking care of basic necessities, balancing studies and work and socialising… Here it is so much less straining, and as June’s favourite, I have people attending my every whim, and a little god who would give me everything in his power had I asked him. The new body, once I’m used to its peculiarities, has a much more pleasing package than my original, plain face, and as I trace it in front of the mirror, I can see the truth of the wolf’s words. The general… **feel** is the same, although my eyes are much larger and of a deeper, blue shade, and the mousy blond here appears to equal to a silvery platinum. But my face retains the… humanish softness of the lines, while everyone here is much more sharp edged.

 And the world is beautiful, once I look at it impartially – I can do that, for a short moment, at least -  magic surrounding my every step, which turned my head in wonder the first time June brought me here.

But at the same time, I miss my reality something terrible. Lacking the small and large things I loved from my… my former life, I suppose would be accurate to say. Coffee in the mornings before work, and the silly cartoons I watched while eating ice cream. Computers, and the very convenient internet, which is so much like magic. My paints – June told them to provide me with materials, but the colours fall flat of what is provided by the modern technology. The cat that wanders the neighbourhood, letting me pet him and feed him, mine but never quite mine.

And I miss people. My boss who sends me impatient glares whenever a new complaint comes up, but worries about my studies and treats me more leniently whenever exams are coming up. My co-workers, who offer help and insight on the things I struggle with, and laughingly request coffee in return, because ‘No one makes it quite as well as you do, Anne.’ My friends, Lydia and Tim, who had been making sweet eyes at one another for the past year, but cannot quite get the courage to make the final step. My boyfriend, Jeff, whom I had been quite cross with lately, and for a such stupid reason, because he turns out to be **right** – but here, it hardly matters, because there’s a chance I’ll never get to see him again, and it **hurts**. My parents, who supported me throughout college and harsh decisions, and my little brother, Mic, who resembles June, but at the same time, differs from him, so much I could cry.

But most of all, I miss my freedom. Had I been **asked** to come, granted a new body and worriless reality, I don’t know whether I would have rejected it so summarily, so completely. Not that I would have ever agreed, but… But I’m bound here regardless of my choice or feelings on the matter, with my own pretty fucking carcass imprisoning me here.

 _‘How dare she!’_ I scream my lungs out, looking at the clean, beautiful world surrounding me, and willing to do **anything** _,_ anything to breath in the polluted air of Earth once again, see the night lights of the city. Everything is so clean cut and sharp, pristine, and yet I’m overwhelmed by contempt.  

 _‘You have to understand her a bit.’_ I’m startled by the voice behind me. I turn to see the black wolf that I saw accompanying the so-called goddess, and hiss my displeasure at his presence. He disregards my anger, and prowls over to my side, casually glancing down the cliff.

_‘In the end, she is a mother, and would do anything to grant her child happiness.’_

_‘At the cost of another’s?_ ’ I question disdainfully. He shrugs neutrally.

 _‘Wouldn’t you?’_ he asks back, and I fall silent. In the end, it doesn’t matter what I would have done in her place – I’m not, nor I will ever be. What’s important is how to free myself from this bind, return back to where I belong.

 _‘You cannot go on as you do now.’_ He suddenly breaks the silence. _‘Right now, June is overjoyed by your presence, and therefore tolerant – he understands that you are angry, although it’s beyond him as to **why**. But in the end, it will pass, and he will require more of your attention, and not stop at **anything** to get it.’_ Heavily implied is that his methods might cost me far more than my stubbornness is worth.

 _‘Dying does not seem like a such idea’_ I glance down contemplatively. The chasm below us is deadly, the flying city of Arlathan sequestered beyond the mortal reach.

 _‘I doubt you would be able to return that way. In fact, it would most likely chain you to Thedas forever’_ he says neutrally, momentarily dissuading me from the notion. Still, I’m suspicious.

_‘Why should I believe you, wolf?’_

_‘Mythal has bound your very soul to this place. Dying won’t change it’_ the wolf replies in a matter-of-fact way, patently indifferent to the accusing tone of my voice.

‘So _what will_?’ I detest the way my voice is breaking down at the edges. He turns his head in a particularly canine way, and I have to stop myself from gaping – I had forgotten he was not a person, for a moment, the words of wisdom flowing from his mouth, wiser and calming me more than any Elvhen ever accomplished. He considered my question, and I wait nervously, my heart thumping loudly in my ears.

 _‘Why should I betray my mistress’s wishes for your sake?’_ He wonders, and I have nothing to give him in reply. The wolf flicks his tail dismissively, and leaves me. And I finally break down, and cry bitter tears of despair, detesting this place to the very core. 

The brunt of the anger had evaporated, turning into more dangerous, hopeless indifference. I see no way out, from desperation clawing my nails at my body, hoping the pain would wake me back. It never does, and the other Elvhen chide me softly in their melodic voices, healing my wounds until not even as much as a faint shade remains on the unblemished pearl of my skin. I only growl back, refusing hear the same silvery tone from my mouth – because that’s not me, I don’t have pointed ears, weightless grace or centuries to live, I am but a normal economy student in a middle of vacation and I want my home, family, friends, everything back!

The sole thing distracting me from apathy is painting. What once had been merely a hobby to pass time, turned into a lifeline connecting me to my former world. I depict everything I remember– buildings, places, animals. People. I etch the faces into the canvas, terrified I would forget, and days blur into weeks, weeks into months, months into years. I cry at not enough of likeliness, not similar enough, not accurate enough, not right – and so I begin anew, from the start. Differently, more expertly this time, and as my memories blur, the shapes gain. I saw it otherwise before, but now, as I’m polishing my skill, I see how far I’ve yet to go.

They have to remind me to eat and sleep, and quietly clean up the mess around me – but I am entranced, and let their sure hands guide me to do whatever they think is best – yet once they let go, I scramble back to my canvas, to my memories.

I am, marginally, aware of June’s displeasure. Once I have lapsed into painting, the pointed refusal of acknowledgement turned into something which hurts him far more – indifference. I readily ignore him in favour of preserving my former world, as he comes and goes, speaking to me in his sweet voice which I used to adore. Finally, he is fed up – and orders everything to be taken away.

I howl and cry and beg to give it back, but his words are an order not to be dismissed. The Elvhen serving me, kind Mara, apologises profusely, and tries to comfort me – but there’s no consolation for my loss.

The depression hits me with new strength, this time, fatal. I refuse to eat or drink. June, enraged and refusing to admit he could be wrong, tells them to feed me by force. But even then, I do not keep it down, and I start to dwindle away in front of their eyes. The days blur into haze, as I barely have the strength to resist them anymore, but still my body gives out.

And then, the wolf comes back.

 _‘I didn’t think you would be so stubborn’_ he admits from the entrance. I lift my head weakly, blinking away at the brightness at the room, and swallow heavily, my throat too dry to form any sound. He orders to bring me something to drink, before continuing his previous train of thought.

_‘I thought you would adjust, as others do. Slaves are offered to serve the gods, against their wishes, yet none of them are willing to die for their freedom.’_

I gulp a bit of herb infused water, before whispering croakily,

 _‘That’s horrible.’_ Slavery of any kind is horrible.                          

 _‘Once I realized you were more alike to a caged bird, which would rather die than sing in captivity, I tried speaking to Mythal of returning you whence you came’_ he continues conversely. I am surprised, and overwhelmed with gratitude _. ‘She refused, of course. Too much power was used to create this vessel, and bind you to it, for her to simply give up. Mythal believes they can wait you out – they have centuries.’_ He huffs in a unlike-wolf way.

 _‘I think she is wrong. You will die if left alone. So, I’m here to offer a solution’_ his eyes twinkle, and I pull myself upright, suddenly hopeful.

 _‘I thought you weren’t willing to go against your mistress’s wishes, wolf’_ I remind him, my voice still hoarse from the lack of use and dehydration.

 _‘I changed my mind.’_ That forces a startled laugh out of me, and the wolf wags his tail, clearly happy with himself, until my amusement turns into a round of wheezing cough. He waits until it subsides, before continuing _, ‘A defiant, proud spirit like yours should not be sacrificed to their arrogance.’_

For a moment, doubt flickers in my mind – I had heard the others referring to him as a Trickster. Is it an elaborate ruse, to temporarily save from despair, give me false hope? But I have literally nothing left to lose, and if it turns out that way – well, I can end my existence later.

They bring the meal then, and for the first time in weeks I’m able to keep it down. The wolf paws the floor impatiently, waiting for the servants to leave, before we return to our conversation.

 _‘The ritual used to settle you here is similar in nature to one granting bodies to normal spirits. Therein lies its weakness – I assume if the bond was broken, you would be able to return back to your original body the same way you got here initially.’_ I can feel his curiosity at how I found myself here, but as I can offer no concrete answer, I focus instead on the point that concerns me.

_‘You **assume**?’ _

_‘I’m reasonably certain’_ he corrects, scrunching his snout strangely. Had he been human, I would have suspected a frown, alas, I’m not proficient at reading animal expressions. In my world, they tend to be rather… thoughtless beings, in comparison. _‘Understandably, your case is somewhat unique, as never before had I experienced such situation with an otherworldly entity.’_

I snort at the description.

 _‘Nonetheless, the gods had removed the souls of the living and placed them elsewhere before.’_ At my horrified expression, he shrugs in an almost human way. _‘Not very tasteful experiment, I’ll grant you, but it provides me with expertise similar to your situation. Now, once the bind to the artificial body was broken, the souls were capable of returning back without much trouble.’_ He takes a breath before adding, _‘And never had they mistaken which body was the correct one.’_

That alleviates some of my concerns, and is certainly far better than anything I could have hoped for. But the wolf looks a bit pensive, so I press him for more.

_‘There’s a catch, wolf.’_

_‘There’s always a catch’_ he chuckles wolfishly, a low grumble from the throat.

_‘You will need to learn how to break the binds over your soul on your own. I cannot help you – I perceive magic much differently, and cannot see inside the vessel. Similarly, no one else, even Elvhen, would be capable of helping you – not only for the fear of displeasing their gods, but also because they **cannot**. Only you can see the binds over your soul – and Mythal, who had placed them there.’_

_‘But there’s no magic in my world. How do you know I’m even capable of learning that?’_ I whine, dejected and pessimistic again.

He growls impatiently.

_‘No matter your other-world situation, here you are proper Elvhen.’_

He sighs heavily, before adding,

_‘I shan’t lie to you – the endeavour will take you years. Decades. Do try not to prematurely betray your intent.’_

Decades. Well, I did not expect it to be easy. And considering the difference in time flow, I will  hopefully not lose too much – maybe a month, or two – hard to judge, as it was subject to change before. My parents will worry, of course, but the perspective is much better than, say, **forever**.

He turns to leave, having said everything he felt was necessary.  

 _‘Wait. I do not even know your name.’_ I stop him at the door. I need to know whom I owe my gratitude to. He regards me silently for a moment before replying,

_‘I’m called Fen’Harel.’_


	3. Released

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ASSUMPTIONS:  
> 1\. Thedas is the sole continent, a whole world of DA.  
> 2\. Original Inquisition timeline is around 8 years, and not 2 years, like it is according to Wiki.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments and appreciation! I love hearing from you. I dedicate this chapter to StValentine, because without your question, I would not have had the inspiration for one particular scene – you’ll know what I’m talking about once you get there, my friend. ^^

**Released Pride**

The wolf’s words are a beacon of hope that helps me fight off despair. As I slowly regain my strength, getting used to normal meals again, I plan and scheme. His warning rings in my head – do not let them know what you are doing. Everything has to be arranged, thought out very carefully – one careless mistake and my key to opening the cage will be gone. This time, forever.

I carefully stage my convalescence. God bless her, Mara is a sweet, naïve thing without much thought beneath her auburn locks, and doesn’t question my instructions. I manage to get a hold on a writing supplies, and start to painstakingly learn the written Elvhen - as of course, thus far, I only knew how to speak.

June is glad of my attitude change, if bitter that it was the wolf to make me see the light. He asks me about it, obviously jealous, biting his trembling lip. It is then that I’m reminded again he is still merely a child, and does not, cannot, understand what his stubbornness had cost me.  

 _‘He showed me magic’_ I reply, mixing truth with lies. June does not understand, because hasn’t he done the same? I look at him, pursuing my lips wordlessly, and he colours. No one here ever told me I could practice the same powers as they did – whether they assumed it obvious, or were thoughtless, uncaring, I do not know. Not that it changes anything.

My progress is slow, but as I understand more letters, I pretend to slowly get over my imprisonment, gradually allowing June to assist me. He is elated, and I almost feel guilty at the deception.

Almost.

He orders the return of my painting materials, later. The only apology I could ever get from him, I guess. I glance longingly at the canvas, before steeling myself, with a single tear falling down my cheek. Finally, with the small burst of power which I’m only just beginning to control, I create a spark which quickly engulfs everything in flames. I do not trust myself not to lose myself again in the memories. The temptation is too much to resist – much better if there’s none to have.

Of course, after a while, June orders the replacement of what I had burned. He does not understand my motives, and I do not explain myself before him. How could I tell him that by cutting off my means of escape into my fantasies, I’m propelling myself forward, to find the key to this golden cage?  

Burning it the second time around is much easier.

I grasp how to fake honesty and content, mixing truths with falsehoods so they make an entangled mess, and sometimes I’m not sure where one ends and another begins. When I have them successfully entangled in the web of lies, Mythal says,

 _‘It seems, my friend, you were wrong, for once. Even a wild bird can be tamed and taught to sing, given enough time.’_ Though she faces the wolf, I can feel the sting of her words. It takes a lot of my self-control to keep my expression still, unaffected, even as my carefully maintained,  long nails – a result of Mara’s patient ministrations – dig deeply into my skin just above my wrists.

 _‘If you say so, my lady’_ he replies neutrally. He does not look my way, nor do I not look his.

Afterwards, Mara is forced to prepare a herbal ointments, to apply on the wounds of a characteristically crescent shape, to prevent scarring. She does that shaking her head in quiet reproof,  while I dress them, painstakingly choosing the bandage so that it seamlessly blends with my skin. In the following weeks, I wear long sleeves, to hide away the proof of my temper.

 But Mythal’s words signify the drop of their scrutiny me over me, and I gain more freedom. Still, I cannot let my guard down, even if they did - so I pretend, I play, I deceive, and in order to perfect my role, accidentally, I learn to love Thedas anew.

I see things June never thought to show me, again fascinated with this world I’m stranded on, treating it as if I were a shipwrecked castaway. The unusual, unseen on Earth herbs and plants, sprouting bright, intense colours or shapes, or with unique qualities. The variety of landscapes, untouched by human hand – for the quicklings here are a barely crawling civilization, far removed from the much older Elvhen, or even Children of the Stone. The realm is young and unspoilt, still.

With great delight, I discover, and learn, dances, for the first time appreciating my new body. At home, I’m both tone deaf and without any sense of rhythm whatsoever. I still cannot sing to save my life, but at least there’s an advantage to the long ears – I can hear the undertone of the melody like I never could before. It’s little wonder the Elvhen dances are so intricate, and I find joy mastering them – the first one unblemished by sorrow.

Studying the language more deeply allows me to catch some of its interesting intricacies. Like the fact that placing a certain, melodic accent on a first letter makes it more formal, making a spoken word appear as if starting from a capital. The titles of the officials are often spoken in such way, and the h in Fen’Harel, to underline it’s **The** Dread Wolf, and not just some wild animal running rampant. After finding that out, I start calling the wolf Fen, expressing my gratitude – if only in private, at first. In turn, he refers to me by the name I had assumed, showing underlying change of his perception of me – a person, instead of mere curiosity.

Less interesting is a skill that is enforced on my itinerary – courtly manners and propriety, with a teacher designated by Mythal. I force myself to endure it patiently, as protesting would spoil my **tamed** image. There are some useful things I glean from this torturous boredom, but in general, I find it a terrible waste of time.

And of course, there’s magic. The variety of it, things it can affect, is simply astonishing, and at first, I feel a little overwhelmed. They call it Fade, the breath of life, and I soon learn to detect the differences in the density of it in specific places. It permeates everything, but the larger availability eases the manipulation of power – some of which is inherent to every Elvhen, and some of which is borrowed from the surroundings.

Obviously, I’m mostly concerned with matters pertaining soul manipulation – but just as surely, I have to conceal the said interest. My aim would be glaringly apparent for anyone to discern. Thus, I focus at first at the general  aspects of magical manipulation, for years, lulling my watchers into complacency, until I’m certain I have a sure grasp of the basics.   

There are days when I despair. I look at the passage of time, and at how little progress I’ve made, and become convinced the wolf must have lied. That there’s no way out to be found. That I’m stuck in this beautiful world till the end of my days, a stranger in the almost paradise. These are bad days, when everything seems meaningless, and my efforts – pointless.

It is one of these days when I finally face the darkness of Thedas. It is right here, staring into my face, and yet I had avoided it, in my thoughts and reflections, until now. It is in the pliancy of servants, who accept the outbursts of my anger, unfairly directed their way, without a comment. It is in Mara, who wordlessly fulfils my whims and desires, in so far they don’t go counter to June’s orders. It is in servile behaviour of nobles, who in spite of their apparent, plain scorn and poorly disguised jealousy, scurry to try and earn my goodwill, hoping to gain June’s blessing.

Slavery.

Everyone here is a slave, subject to the gods’ whims, regardless of caste they’re born into – although those lower on the food chain are worse off, simply because, as it is in my world, they can be commanded by the more privileged as well. The only thing saving from the dictates of another’s is anonymity – and if one dedicates his life to it, they’re just as chained, chafed by it, as those who choose to lower their head.

Of course, the gods do not intervene into **every** aspect of life – they have no need, nor interest, in doing so. An average, nameless Elvhen can expect to live their life peacefully without being bothered. Unless he, or she, has a bad luck of catching someone’s interest – then all bets are off.      

What terrifies me the most is the fact no one even _attempts_ to fight for their freedom, just as Fen said – they simply adjust to the changed circumstances. I pity them – but also, detest them a little for it. Spineless people, who had never experienced a true freedom, and thus, don’t know what they’re missing. I desperately miss my world– it simply **overflows** with freedom, at least in the more civilized countries. And even people from the poor ones, if they’re cunning enough, can fight their way for the betterment of their fate – no one simply gives up.

Sometimes, I’m afraid I’ll become just like them. That I’ll resign myself to the fate, to the overwhelming superiority of the gods’ powers, to the casual disregard of another’s will. That I’ll be forever forced to manipulate events, using June’s affection, to gain semblance, scraps of independence.

Because that’s what I do, now. June is starved for my affection, desperate for my praise. I learn to use this hunger against him, skilfully weaving words so that they’re always borderline approving, but there’s always something that he could improve on, never perfect. Manipulating him away from my side, and back to his countless experiments, where he tries to satisfy my well-nigh impossible whims.

One day, he proudly announces that the Crossoroads are finished. I ask him to take him there, and while nonchalantly commending his hard work, I ask about the Eluvians. He lapses into elaborate explanation, brimming with satisfaction – until I cut it off with a deliberately aimed critique,

‘ _Don’t you think it’s an inconvenience to have people popping in and out whenever they wish from the mirror in the confines of one’s private home?_ ’

His mood darkens, and he immediately sets out to work. It takes him a while, but he is a prodigy, so he manages to incorporate private pass-phrases and magical signatures into Eluvians – and with time, other types of keys, that ensure no one can intrude uninvited.

This time, he expects me to be satisfied, but I change the subject, commenting with a false sweetness,

 _‘June, the Crossroads are a magnificent idea, but the finishing look is much… unpolished.’_ I widen my eyes, and ask innocently, _‘Don’t you think your mother, your people, would have much rather travelled a path that’s appropriate to her high station, worthy of the ruler of magnificent Arlathan?’_

He sends me a dirty look, sullen – we had talked about this before. But still, he accepts my criticism, and tries to improve the in-between reality. Of course, he is far from grasping what I’m about – his technical genius does not contain any artistic sense whatsoever -  and after a few pathetically inept attempts, he growls that at the very least, I could give him some pointers.  

Just this once, I return to my paints, and with a vicious satisfaction, I create the mirage of Crossroads as I would see them, a guiding outline for him. It is a fantastic take, inspired by the Japanese culture as I remember it from my world – which is not very well, admittedly, but the point is not accuracy, but challenge – and recreate a delicate, pink petals of cherries on the trees, the lamps hanging in the air and magnificent ponds of water full of colourful koi, everything kept in a cheerful yet soft palette.

This time, it takes much longer for him to complete – most likely, because some of the things presented on the canvas do not actually **exist** in Thedas. But after some time, June manages to twist the plants with magic to grow as he wishes them to, fishes to take on the painted shapes and colours, hangs the forever glowing lamps in air, and makes the water flow upwards.

Of course, there’s only so far I can push – so in the end, I ruffle his golden locks in faux affection, and tell him what a bright, brilliant boy he is. But then, I find another thing to steer his attention to, and the process begins anew, granting me my much desired opportunities to learn, away from his scrutiny and dangerously perceptive intellect.

I earn the scorn of strongly disapproving Mythal with my actions. She sees her child frantic and overworked beyond reason, and worries over him – and rightly perceives me as the cause of his anguish. He beams at my offhanded remarks, carefully, sparingly, dosed, a scraps from master’s table to feed on – because I’m very careful not to cross the line of his endurance. But there’s little she can do to intervene, as it is, in a way, a direct result of her own decision to bind me here – and also, because Elgar’nan, as opposed to her, approves.

June’s strict father, Elgar’nan, is one whom the Elvhen associate with vengeance. I do not know much about that, but he is certainly stern, disciplining his children, as opposed to their overly lenient mother. It is a damn shame, I think, looking at the deity, that it is Mythal who holds the throne. Elgar’nan would not have agreed to June’s request. It makes me esteem the surly figure, even though, I’m certain, he thinks me little more than an uncivilized ignoramus.

He is satisfied with June’s progress though, and lets me know in no uncertain terms that in this case, he supports me against his wife. Apparently, June’s useful inventions garner him a staunch, loyal following among the Elvhen, furthering his powers. Thus far, he was a deity of minor importance, perceived as a son of Mythal above anything else – but now, he grows into his rightful place, rapidly catching up with his older siblings.

I’m a bit confused about that, and soon, ask Fen to clarify my uncertainties.  

‘ _How come June is gaining in power?’_ They’re gods, aren’t they?

He ponders for a while how to respond, shaping and structuring his answer.

 _‘It goes back to the creation of the world.’_ He begins. _‘The Creators cared about harmony the most, it’s why there are the Sleepers, and the Evanuris – though they had long stopped using the name, and now claim to be Creators themselves, at least to the People.’_ The tone of his voice betrays amusement at the notion. _‘Preposterous. Neither Mythal, nor Elgar’nan, have the power to shape life. In a sense, calling them, **us** , gods, is a stretch – we are far from omnipotent.’ _He pauses for a while, lost in thought, before returning to the main topic. _‘The gods for the living and those for the dead, and the balance is upheld. And, with a prayer for particular god’s blessing, in turn, he gains in strength to be able to grant it. Though, at this point, Creators had a slight mishap.’_

_‘What do you mean?’_

_‘Well, they assumed that with the additional power, the gods would **want** to grant wishes. They rarely do.’ _There’s a laughter in his voice, as if the mistake of the Creators was patently basic. In hindsight, I suppose it is – derived from the assumption that the gods would behave similarly to them, the all-powerful, instead of acting like the limited, erroneous beings they are. An issue of inability to shift perspective. Though, unlike him, I’m sickened by the notion, as one personally affected by the said miscalculation.

I ponder on it for a bit longer, while he stretches lazily, until finally catching onto the slight inconsistency of his story. He always seems so suspiciously removed from it all, I cannot help but wonder,

 _‘And where does that leave **you**?’_

Fen looks at me surprised, and slightly impressed, as if seeing me in new light, after the **astonishingly** astute question. I roll my eyes at him – he didn’t make it particularly hard to notice that he does not fit. He barks out a growling laugh at my irritation.

 _‘I’m neither here nor there’_ Fen says flippantly. ‘ _I do not know what was Creators’ intent when it comes to me, but I am a part of both worlds. I simply choose to dwell with the leaving, for now.’_

 _‘Then why the deference to Mythal?’_ It is strange, to say the least.

 _‘Firstly, it’s courtesy. This is her palace, after all. It’s not like she would ever try to command me.’_ And I realize that he is right. Never had Mythal tried to order him, in my presence, and always called him her friend, a privilege extended to no other. But he continues on, so I tune back in. _‘Secondly, it leaves me conveniently outside court intrigues or hierarchy. The siblings constantly vie for more influence, and it’s a tiresome affair I’m glad to be away from.’_

I have met them all, the children of Mythal.

The two older brothers of June’s, Dirthamen and Falon’Din, summarily ignore my presence. There is no malice there, simply no **interest**.

It’s another case with the females, though.

With Andruil, it’s not about me personally, I’m just another, glaring evidence of June’s superior talents, which she envies, deeply. It does not save me from her harsh tongue, and deep inside, I know, she would love to break her brother’s newest toy. I watch my back around her carefully, but I’m generally safe as long as I keep my wits about me.

Sylaise is a different piece of work altogether – she hates me. She watches June with the same, disturbingly devoted eyes as he directs at me. Sha thinks that I stole her beloved companion, and her hostility is not one to be dismissed. But she fears to displease her favourite big brother even more, so in the end, the worst that comes of it are a few unkind rumours surrounding me and some light bruising, when I am tripped by her not-so-gentle pushes of power.

I find it highly ironical that I’m in complete agreement with the person who detests me so – both of us wish me gone from this place.

Considering it all, I can sympathize with Fen’s avoidance of the godly politics, such as they are. I would love to have the same opportunity, I muse, glossing over the murals surrounding the peaceful arbour in the gardens.

The vines entwine the columns, striving upwards, and scattering the hypnotising aroma of their flowers in full bloom. It’s my single, favourite spot in the palace, shielded from the prying eyes and judgemental whispers – and Fen is here, more often than not. For similar reasons, I suppose.  

 _‘I like Mythal.’_ He adds unexpectedly, and I bristle, irritated. ‘ _I know you have your reasons, valid, for disliking her’_ that’s a very **mild** description of my feelings towards the bitch ‘ _but she is a good goddess for this world. Flawed, and arrogant, and overly indulgent towards her children, I’ll grant you that – but ultimately, generous, kind and helpful. Loving. Much better than Elgar’nan, who cares about little else than power and authority.’_

I really do not want to admit that perhaps, he has a point there. So I steer the topic away from the gods, unwilling to listen anymore to his praises of a deity that had, with best intentions and love in mind, wrecked my life. Just… no.

Considering my fundamental goal, my second most favoured place in the palace is library. There are many kinds of tomes I discover, in my search for the ritual descriptions and matters pertaining soul manipulation in general. My curiosity can be easily explained, and soon, the watchers grow bored of their task, becoming less attentive.

To throw off suspicion, I pour over books in many topics, so that there’s no discernible pattern. I read about the Elvhen politics – not that I would ever be involved in them. The gods are above the hierarchy, and as June’s chosen, I’m also considered in this category.

I find a race guide, a very biased text describing the so called “lesser races”. No matter my distaste after the lecture, I cannot find it in me to blame the author for his disdainful outlook – from the perspective of an immortal, the life of quickling is over before one can truly judge its nature. They’re like ants under Elvhen heels, I muse, with a touch of bitterness.

The alchemy books I merely gloss over, as I never hid my disinterest in herbalism of any kind, and potion making easily falls into that category. Same with any healing-related topics, as they share similar feel. I was easily the worst biology pupil my teachers in high school ever despaired over, and skipping to another reality did not affect that attitude at all.

The historical records are surprisingly poor, both in quantity and quality. It seems that for ageless, the remembrance of the past is not perceived as important. I’m a bit taken aback and disturbed by this revelation, wondering what will be left over for future generations to hold on to, should Arlathan ever fall. Well, there’s no conceivable danger on the horizon, with their gods at the prime of their power, so in a way, it makes sense. Still. Unsettling.

But of course, what holds my interest, understandably, is magic. Of any kind, really, as I hope to encounter a tip to freeing myself. Through my studies, I know that there’s no way for me to break Mythal’s leash by force. My magical strength is at best, average – and could not compare to hers by any stretch of imagination. I had expected that, but it is still a bitter pill to swallow, and forces me to search for different solution.

I am close to despair, helplessly thrashing against the restraints, as one avenue after another proves to lead to nowhere. Is that, I reflect despondently, what it will all come down to? Will the issue close around the pure, brute force, which I’ll be never able to overcome?

The dark thoughts make me careless, and as I slowly abandon hope, all of my carefully cultivated safety measures get ignored, one after another.

The day everything comes crashing down, all at once, begins innocuously. I eat my breakfast with June at my side, who takes surreptitious pleasure away from the public eye with feeding me bits and pieces of food, like one would treat a pet… I had grown used to it, and bear with his antics, before he hurries to his workshop.

I praise the Creators every day for the fact that he believes the experiments too dangerous for me to get close to. Not that I know for certain he is wrong about that, I just don’t want to **check** – in case I prove him wrong, and he demands my presence from now on.

Left alone, I go to the bathroom, and disdainfully touch my reflection in the mirror, despising the face I see every day. I try to recall what it looked like back home, and startled, realize that I’m… not certain. With a panicked, muffled cry, I become aware it is not the only one I had forgotten – uncertain how Jeff’s face looks like, or many others. How did we meet in the first place? Was it a party, or did I encounter him on one of the meetings of creative forums? My love for him gone with the wind, and what’s left over is a mere nostalgia, I realize guiltily. My friends, my family, have blurred in my memory, as I suddenly face the revelation that I spent more years in Thedas than on Earth.

It is a bitter reality check, especially considering I’m still nowhere near finding an answer how to leave.

It is very despondently that I enter the library that day, and dragging my feet, take over my favourite table, hidden among the shelves, and mindlessly skim over the contents of yet another soul study, which brings me no reprieve. I’m so lost in the overwhelming me misery, I do not notice a new presence, until Dirthamen looms over me, shadowing the daylight.

I jerk in my seat, panicked, and instinctively try to cover the text – before cursing myself for stupidity. Well done, me, now I’m certain to have his attention. He scans the stack of my books wordlessly, before turning away and coming up to one of the bookshelf.

I release the breath I was holding, relieved. Prematurely. He returns soon enough, and gently removes my hand from the book it covered. I stare at him boldly, daring him to comment, as he leans in and whispers into my ear:

 _‘Do keep your nerves on a tighter leash. Your behaviour practically screams **guilty** ’_ his voice quivers with naked amusement. He withdraws promptly, leaving me shaken and terrified from the encounter.

Way too fucking close.

It is only once a few minutes have trickled by that I realize he had placed another book atop of my own – "The detailed study of breaking magic".

Even a brief skim over it reveals it to be a gem I was looking for… and suddenly, it’s all too much. I snatch Dirthamel’s gift, and make a quick flight to my favourite alcove, and to the Fen. I bury my head in his silken fur, and cry my eyes out, relieving the stress of the day. The wolf is shocked by my outburst, barely having awakened from his nap, but easily allows me the much needed comfort.

 _‘Why did he give me that?’_ I ask Fen after calming down from my breakdown.

 _‘At a guess - he wants to block June’s growth’_ replies the wolf immediately, with a startling certainty. _‘Your disappearance will, at the very least, stunt it, and at best, entirely diffuse his motivation.’_

 _‘I’m glad for his selfishness, then.’_ I murmur distractedly, my attention drawn to the precious book. Invaluable. _‘At least I do not have to like him.’_

Fen laughs.

 _‘You don’t’_ he admits after his chuckles subside. I curl up against his fur, devouring the tome gifted to me by the self-seeking god, learning the art of dismantling the magic. Once I tire of it, I strike another conversation.

_‘Do you not have a more conventional form?’_

_‘Why would I want one?’_ The flick of his ears betrays confusion, even as he lapses into lecture. ‘ _At the beginning all of us were merely akin powerful spirits – though with more personality. Evanuris chose to amass followers by taking on the Elvhen bodies, and the Sleepers revere in fear, so they became first dragons, to seek out death and destruction, as the Creators proclaimed. As I cared for neither, I chose differently.’_

_‘Why a wolf, though?’_

_‘I’ll have you know, the wolves are much more perceptive of magic than most other beings.’_ He informs me haughtily, clearly offended. I cannot hold my laughter – a fucking pouting wolf.

 _‘Oh for…’_ he snaps angrily, and suddenly, two new pairs of eyes open on his head. I’m stumped for a moment, before declaring slowly,

 _‘Ok, I take it back – colour me impressed.’_ I move closer to take a better look at the warily observing me Fen, taking in the unusual, vivid green of his irises, glowing now, as he has them all out.

_‘Why don’t you take this form more often?’_

_‘It’s inconvenient.’_ He admits reluctantly. _‘The six eyes are distracting, far less useful than a pair of them. They’re a result of my arrogance – I believed I could improve on Creators creature.’_

 _‘Could you take another shape?’_ my curiosity just doesn’t shut up. He sends me an evaluating glance, before musing out loud,

‘ _Technically. It requires a lot of power, just like shaping your vessel did. Mythal had used a lot’_ he adds. I snort derisively, uncaring. I do not appreciate this particular expenditure of power. He senses my souring mood, and easily distracts me away from it.

 _‘But you have work to do.’_ He delicately nudges me back towards my book, and I perk up, elated by the chance in front of me.

I make the first, tentative try to it this very evening. I envision Mythal’s power as a rope, binding my soul, and slowly, patiently, try to loosen the knots tying it to this body. The process is slow, and requires patience – but I’m hopeful. Breaking it was impossible for me, but this… This is within my capabilities.  

June’s entry into puberty is plain for all, and nerve wrecking for me. It starts when he begins sending me long, nervous glances, and twitches uncertainly in my presence. At first, I do not know what to make of it – until he tries to kiss me, a tentative, shy brush of his lips against mine. He flushes with bright red once I raise my eyes to meet his, and flees. I raise my hand and cover my mouth in disbelief – has it really happened?

I’m disturbed, and frightened. I had seen June thus far as a something akin to a younger brother – needy, and whining, and demanding – but I had never really blamed him for my imprisonment. I was annoyed with him, of course – but the fault for the decision lies solely on Mythal. He had not realized – still doesn’t, to be fair – what he was asking for.

But now, June changes. Soon, he will take interest not only in kissing, but further – and the very thought disgusts me… and motivates to hurry along.

 The other clear indicator of the transition within him is his jealousy. He used to only desire my attention – now he is envious of every touch, every word and every glance I exchange with other males. It soon becomes unreasonable, and my patience is deteriorating with each passing month. Finally, it snaps, during the ball thrown in his honour – the irony of it – when, after less than an hour, he forbids me from dancing with anyone.

 _‘If you wished to partner me, you had but to ask, though I was under impression you do not enjoy these types of frivolous activities. If so, you could at least allow me the freedom of doing which bring me joy - **seeing as you have stolen my world from me**.’ _ Anger loosens my tongue.

 _‘It is little wonder June is jealous as the graceful Pride twirls on the dancefloor’_ suddenly interjects Dirthamen into our conversation, preventing me from speaking anymore. The words are both a taunt  to draw away attention,  and a warning for me, but it comes too late, the damage already done. June reels away from me, as if I had slapped him – I might as well have done that – and Mythal’s heavy gaze drills into me. I betrayed too much of my bitterness in those words, and too much independence.  

My pride brings me no end of troubles. For the next few years, my progress in dismantling the binds is severely stunted, as I have to carefully avoid her scrutiny and suspicion. I should not have shown the backbone the way I did, but now, it’s far too late to regret – so instead, I hold my head high, and learn to dodge her spies.

Finally, I’m ready.

Over forty fucking years. That’s how long it takes for me to find a way out of this trap. Yet, when I’m nearly there, I hesitate – and rush to find my only friend, my sole supporter in this wretched realm, before leaving. He is at our usual spot, and does not seem surprised to see me here.

 _‘Had you not been a wolf, I would have kissed you. Alas, this will have to do’_ I lean down, and draw his furry head into a hug, whispering, _‘Take care of yourself, my friend.’_

And I reach within, loosening the last strand holding me back.

 


	4. Misfit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ASSUMPTIONS:  
> 1\. Thedas is the sole continent, a whole world of DA.  
> 2\. Original Inquisition timeline is around 8 years, and not 2 years, like it is according to Wiki.

**Misfit Pride**

I open my eyes and for the first few terrifying seconds am terribly disoriented. The bright light blinds me, and I blink rapidly, trying to chase away the blur. I feel a strange weakness all over my body, as many people hover over me, checking my vitals and speaking to me.

Ah, a hospital. That explains the dazzling white.                                          

At first, I do not understand a word of what they say, English as foreign and forgotten as everything else.

But then, slowly, as if walking out of a haze, everything starts coming back. After swallowing suddenly gathered saliva, I’m able to respond to the doctor’s questions, with a hoarse voice that sounds like stranger’s to my ears – yes, I’m fine. No, I do not feel any pain.  No, I do not know what might have caused my coma – I fight an urge to roll my eyes at the lie. I **do** know, only the answer would get me into a mental hospital, which I would like to avoid, preferably.

Finally, I’m allowed to ask questions as well – and the first one is how long I had been asleep. Not about the date, because, I realize bitterly, it would not give me any estimation, as I have no recollection of the last day in my realm at all. The doctor replies that since I was transported here, three weeks had passed.

A mere three weeks, which for me, equal to lifetime. I ponder on it for a while, again unnerved by the tricks of time – once, month amounted to a century, and now, three weeks were four decades. But I discard these thoughts quickly, firmly telling myself that it has nothing to do with me anymore. I’m not returning to Thedas, ever again.

A miracle, they call me. An unexplained coma for close to a month, with close to none brain activity, and yet I wake up right as rain, and aside from initial shock, there’s little else wrong with me.

Still, I’m told I need to remain in hospital’s care for at least a day longer. My muscles had partially atrophied during my period of unconsciousness, unused, and I can feel the weakness of my limbs – though I can guess from the looks sent my way, and my own assessment, it's nothing serious. They just want an excuse to keep me around longer, and perform more tests, trying to come up with the cause behind my collapse.

Internally, I’m sympathetic of their confusion. A king’s ransom for anyone who could come up with an answer as unlikely as the truth, and then convince the others of it.

I do my best to hide my growing unease, pondering on the situation. After finally finding a way out, I have no intention of letting the story repeat itself. While I have no idea what triggers my connection between realities, I cannot count on it being severed simply by my return. I wreck my head, as nurses flutter around me performing tests, trying to come up with a solution.

Finally, it comes to me, as I recall more and more of my life here.

Sleeping pills.

Once, the necessity of them chafed, as I believed myself restrained from my amazing ability. This time, they are a chance at normality, which I crave desperately.

Just as I finish this line of thought, the doors burst open, and the members of my family burst in. My mother  runs to my bedside, weeping, rejoicing at my awakening, relieved. My younger brother is also crying, though much more subdued, because boys are not supposed to be as emotional as girls, says my father. But even he is moved, and blinks to hide the moist in his eyes.

I had put them through a lot. The prognosis were far from optimistic, with an unknown cause, and a passage of time without any improvement. My parents look as if both of them aged a couple of decades during the time I wasn’t here, I realize, and my heart wrenches at the new stress lines and wrinkles, and the dark circles under their eyes. I touch my mother’s face, retracing her features, learning them anew. Then my father draws us all into a bear hug, and I let the tears flow, no longer ashamed, but happy, overwhelmingly happy, to be home.

I send them home, after hours, with words of reassurance and love. I regret that they cannot remain, but the rules are strict when it comes to visiting hours, and I shouldn’t be so selfish. I know for certain, my mother’s work suffered, as she spent days by my bedside. As did Jeff, she informs me conspiratorially, with a covert wink, after calming down.

He sends his apologies at his inability to visit me, as he is in delegation at the moment, and has no way of returning. But he will come tomorrow, when I’m to leave, he swears.

I feel strange reading the message from my cell, as I clumsily operate the keys, and reply that it is fine, he has nothing to apologise for. I had forgotten so much, and it will continue to inconvenience me for a while still.

In the evening, a first minor hurdle appears. When I ask for the sleeping medication, I’m refused, on the grounds of it clashing with some of the stuff in the drip-bags, still attached to my wrists.

I panic, at first – what am I to do, as they won’t let me out, and I refuse to take any chances with my newly gained freedom?

In the end, I reach to the most straightforward solution – and simply do not sleep at all. I remember that getting a hold on the pills shouldn’t be too hard, and, comforted by the thought, I spend the night reading the magazines left over on the bedside table.

Jeff comes to take me home the very next day, and the surreality of the situation assaults me yet again. He brings a bouquet of flowers, a beautiful, rich lilies – I used to love them, I think? But they pale in comparison to their counterpart in Thedas – and they hold little value, brought by a stranger. Because, I recognize honestly before myself, I do not know the male in front of me anymore. What had attracted me to him in the first place, I wonder, smiling genially and thanking him for his effort all the while.

Once the formalities are done, he ushers me outside, and into the car. I take a gulp of the polluted air, and am attacked by a sudden cough, as the city smells assault my nostrils with their variety and **stench**.  

But it is a relief, as well, as I take in the views outside, as we drive through the city, familiarizing myself again with the spiking, blocky buildings, and an array of glass, reflecting the rays of sun. So much grey, as opposed to the blinding white, but that’s fine, just fine.

Jeff comments that I’m unusually quiet, and I don’t reply – I wouldn’t know, the person he once dated is long gone. It is a normal behaviour for me now.

In the next weeks, I learn to deal with the strange dissonance my mind lives in. On one hand, I feel too slow, clumsy, graceless, as my body cannot keep up with commands, used to the much different reactions of the Elvhen. Also, the gravity is an awkward thing to adjust to, as my movement is held back, chained to the ground, when I used to nearly fly.

On the other hand, the life itself is much quicker paced. I remember spending the days observing a single magical trick, slowly unravelling its nature and basics, until I had a complete grasp on it, to perfection – here, every action seems half-assed, as people rush between assignments, pulled from one task to another, a never-ending tale of chase and run.

My friends criticize there are times I seem out of it, dazed. The sad thing is their comments hit the bull’s-eye. Cause I am.

Soon enough, the summer vacation are over, and a new semester begins. I wander through the ancient buildings, their red bricks partially cracked – some of them in a middle of renovation, and lose my way more often than not. I stop by to appreciate the architecture, so different, much more bulky and less ethereal, but so real, so amazingly human. The lectures bring headaches, as I try to reconnect with terms, phrases and formulas long forgotten, and the people are a sea of unknown faces which I’m supposed to know, supposed to remember. Only I don’t, and the coma excuse works only for so long, before they start to get irritated with me.

The pace overwhelms me, as I try to juggle looking for work, relearning the stuff I need for my studies, as well as dealing with the necessities of my social life.

At first, I try to recall, and once that does not work, relearn, how to love Jeff. But we are already in a relationship where I am supposed to know that – only I don’t. I find him childish, annoyingly so – he reminds me of June sometimes in that respect, and it frightens me. I find him petty, at times, and incredibly intolerant of the differences between us, and it chafes. Chafes, because I was already once caged, and I refuse, **refuse** to submit to someone’s whims anymore.

Finally, I stop trying to make it work, trying to revive a corpse that had long rotted.

He notices the change immediately.

‘You’ve changed’ says Jeff, his tone accusing.

I want to scream. Of course I’ve changed, it’s been forty years for me! But I cannot, because it had not been, not for them.

So instead, I just nod, holding back my words. They’re not for him to hear, nor to understand – he proved that pretty comprehensively during those past few weeks after I had left the hospital.

But he isn’t stupid, so I do not need to speak anymore, for him to understand the implications.

We part ways amicably, more or less. He is bitter, and some part of me feels for him – I would be bitter in his place too. He packs his stuff, and moves out of the flat – and I’m left blissfully alone, to learn how to cope with my life anew. It’s a huge relief, as I do not have to pretend, anymore, at least in the confines of my rooms.

I have a feeling of terrible déjà vu as I look in the mirror and see a stranger. The hair too grey, missing the white tone which made it so unique, the irises not bluish enough, and my skin too bland. The lines too plump, the figure too shapeless, is this really me? Who am I, where am I, what did I become?

Shifty eyes of a person out of her element stare right back at me, and I swallow a sudden gulp in my throat, angered, before releasing a panicked scream that has been rising within me for these past few days.

The glass breaks under my fist, a hole that cracks the entire surface.

I stand there, ignoring the blood flowing from the cuts on my knuckles.               

This is what I wanted, isn’t it?

Isn’t it?           

And as I look again at the cracked, disfigured reflection in a broken mirror, I find my determination anew. I’ll learn again, I decide. There are things on Earth that I longed for during those four decades – it is high time I found them.

I find work as a stage setter, painting backgrounds for the plays in local theatre. It’s not much, but it’s something, at least. It allows me to dismiss at least one of the worries that hound me, and the smell and familiarity of paints calms me down, as I follow the instructions, creating mirages on the large props and banners.

I’m highly commended for my work, and some even suggest I try to make a living out of selling my art, instead of wasting my potential in a backdrop playhouse. I smile under my nose, and dismiss their suggestions, quite satisfied with my position at the moment – the only thing that I could paint if I tried to reach my creativity is Thedas. And I’m not quite ready to face it yet.

My friends all think me a bit crazy. In the end, I do not return to normal, not entirely. I sometimes speak words in a language that does not exist, before catching myself and returning back to English. And I never swear in normally anymore, the words ‘Fenedhis lasa’ springing from my lips without my realizing it. I also do not find a common tongue with them, not like I could before, and more often than not I remain quiet, listening to their words with indulgent smile.

But I try to play my part, try not feel so much more mature than the lot of them – because they aren’t younger than me, only I got older much faster.

They chalk it all up on the accident, and it’s close enough to what really happened, I do not mind.

Sometimes, I scare myself. The ease with which I can turn the words around, with which I can squirm out of any situation by playing on people’s motivations and desires, the proficiency with which I can read them, efficiency in using it against them… My years in Thedas haunt me, when I masterfully dodge uncomfortable questions, avoid some topics.   

The fear that drives me. I take twice the dose of the medication, terrified that single one will not suffice. I jump at the shadows, and I became somewhat of a recluse, distrustful of others and unusually closed off – or that’s what my friends say. My once quite… well, I wouldn’t say optimistic, but definitely positive outlook on life has darkened, and it worries people around me. For them, it’s inexplicable – yes, I had a strange accident, but nothing really terrible happened, at least in their eyes.

I do not feel any connection with the bright, kind girl they describe of knowing. The only thing we still share is our desperate, foolhardy desire for independence.

It’s the fear that finally does me in.

I was not aware the hospital had informed them of my initial, surprising request regarding being put to artificial sleep – but they did. My mum, suspicious of the changes in me, questions Tim and Lydia, and after a lot of squirming and dodging the subject, she drags the truth out of them. We have a long talk then, when she lectures me about the dangers of addiction –whether these are medical drugs, or narcotics. I nod at the appropriate places, generally in agreement with her, until I tire of the diatribe, and manipulate the conversation away from it. Her eyes gleam strangely, and I can feel her frustration with me – but she drops the subject, just as I intended.

I believe the issue forgotten, until, during my next visit, she rises it up again. This time, I let some of my irritation show through the timbre of my voice, replying sternly that I happen to be an adult, and whatever I choose to indulge in is none of her business.

The tension between us is so thick one could cut it with a knife, when we are parting. I avoid family gatherings for the next few weeks.

However, I reluctantly return to my childhood home for my father’s birthday. Regardless of the conflict between me and my mother, he had no part in it, and, I felt, he shouldn’t innocently suffer the consequences. The party drags on till late – with me and my mother deliberately sidestepping one another for the whole evening – and I decide to stay the night, unwilling to use public transport at this hour.   

I wake to the sound of a car on a parking lot, and as I walk down, I hear the doorbell ring. My mother stands up from the kitchen table, and calmly lets two strangers into the house – it’s clear she has been expecting them. 

‘Who are these people, mother?’ I ask, feeling the dread stiffening up my spine.

‘I have tried talking with you, Joanne – but it all proved pointless. It is clear what you need is beyond me – you require professional help’ she sighs heavily, as my eyes grow cold, and my world crumbles. ‘Your father and I both agreed, and acquired the official injunction of unemancipation over you. As of now, you are officially considered as incapable of taking care of yourself – until the facility physicians declare otherwise’ she nods at the two males in white coats. ‘This is my daughter, whom we spoke of.’

‘Mum, you do not understand! I…’                               

‘On the contrary, my dear’ she interrupts me impatiently, ‘I understand quite well you are addicted. Trust me, it is for your own good.’

I gape at her in disbelief, as I notice a steely resolve in her eyes. How could have I missed this? The signs were all out there… but I was so focused on myself, I disregarded them.

‘I would like my daughter back’ she admits quietly, and I close my mouth with a snap. She does not, cannot, refuses to see the truth right in front of her eyes, that this is me, this is what I’ve become. There’s no changing the past, and yet, in her attempt to turn back time, she unwittingly dooms me.

But I can see the in her look, that there’s no convincing her. So I bite my lip and turn around to walk out with my head held high, refusing to be dragged out like a criminal, like a freak, like an **animal**.

It’s the only thing left for me.                             

Pride.

I’m promptly put into the white car, and driven away to the rectangular building, which stinks of medicine. At first, I’m numb, both from shock, and betrayal. How could she? No, how could **they**?

In order to procure the papers, they needed official witnesses of my self-destructive behaviour. They had convinced my **friends** to testify against me – all behind my back, without a word. I swallow a bile of bitterness, and sudden nausea.

My mood shifts, and by the time we arrive, I have to hold back the hysterical laugh, bubbling in me, as the two people in white coats show me the way into my closely monitored room. After all my efforts, I’m still closed in a mental institution – although for all the different reasons than those I had initially feared.

I point a middle finger to the CCTV camera observing the room – the place my parents found is truly top notch, joy of joys. How sad that in their misguided concern for me, they could not learn to accept me, to get to know me again.

And there’s an irony of ironies, that after escaping the fate of imprisonment in one realm, I end up caged in another. So much for the so called freedom.

The well-meaning psychiatrist evaluates me during the day, and tries to reach me with her explanations of the necessity of getting over one’s dangerous addictions, being stronger than our weaknesses. I listen to her with sardonically raised eyebrow, and, without remorse, shred her to pieces with my sarcastic replies. She does not deserve my ire, or wrath, and truly wishes me well, but I am done with playing by the rules – I’ve tried, and it does not work.

Of course, there’s no way for me to escape  the well-guarded facility, so I slowly reacquaint myself with the inevitability of my return to Thedas. My insides twist at the very thought, nervously, as I hold onto the weak hope that with as much time as had passed, there’s a high chance that June had forgotten about me.

And then I remember the passionate gleam in his eyes, and my hopes come crashing down, and I have to hold back a panicked scream. Not that it would achieve anything – only confirming the already convinced people in their mind-set of my druggy tendencies.

It’s not like I have any hopes of avoiding my fate, so I do not avoid sleeping on purpose – the nerves keep me awake. My eyes become bloodshot, and soon I am too weak to take any action, to think.

The nurses say I’m stubborn.

I suppose, in a way, they got it right, though it seems to be an understatement – I am beyond stubborn. This is my pride. This is what freed me once, my iron will that upheld for four decades… and it will cage me this time back again.  

Finally, even the fear is not enough to hold the bone-deep weariness at bay. In the final moments of lucidity, I scribble a short message to my mother.

I know it’s petty of me. I know that I should have told her more, before, that maybe she would have believed me, before she became convinced I was an addict. But still, I’m far too bitter over the events not to do it. I know they will pick it up and deliver to her, once I’m asleep again, so I focus on it with desperation, barely keeping hold on my consciousness as I write with shaking hands a single sentence – but it’s enough to convey the venom of my thoughts.

**I told you so.**


	5. Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ASSUMPTIONS:  
> 1\. Thedas is the sole continent, a whole world of DA.  
> 2\. Original Inquisition timeline is around 8 years, and not 2 years, like it is according to Wiki.

**Broken Pride**

I open my eyes to find myself on a familiar, surrounded by stones, lush glade. Creators, how I hate this place!

The serenity of it is in stark contrast with my thunderous mood. I had hoped, prayed, that maybe, just maybe, my talents would bring me elsewhere – like they used to. Where are my Crimson Knight, Charming Rogue, and Girl With the Matches now? Do they live on somewhere, or have they gone with the wind, mere memories immortalized on the paintings, gathering dust in my cabinet?

I had only just begun to cope with the life on Earth, and now I’m back. Thanks to – my heart quivers at the thought – the tender care of those closest to me, believing they know me better than I know myself. Something in me rebels at the unfairness of it all – the hard work of decades, and what, not even a year on Earth and I’m returned to this fucking cage?

My weak hopes of June’s forgetting me are dashed immediately, as the stones reacting to my presence shine more vividly than ever, and my ethereal form freezes in place. Acquainted with magic, I immediately recognize the power washing over me – paralysis glyph. Well, fuck.

I’m decidedly surly and forlorn, as a man with Mythal’s tree tattoo covering his face comes up, and drags me through a conveniently placed in the vicinity Eluvian – and when did that one get moved from Junes workshop, I wonder.

The Crossroads are much more crowded place than they used to be, no longer limited to the presence of Evanuris and their closest servants, open for the Elvhen – in some capacity, at least. I expect mostly nobles are granted this privilege, but considering my lack of control over my muscles, I cannot ascertain that. I’m also unable to discern much else, other than that the place changed little from the last time June presented his work to me, still very much Japanese inspired, with forever blooming cherry trees, and water flowing in the opposite direction it should. I would scoff, if not for the magic that binds my movement. Really, all this time, and no one thought to improve on my idea conceived in a fit of sadism?

I catch on to that thought, and ponder on it some more. How much time had passed, really? It’s hard to judge – I would estimate close to a millennium, but that is a very vague notion requiring confirmation. Certainly, normal person would have gotten tired of waiting – or died, but let’s not get too picky about the course of nature – but June never exhibited much in the **sanity** department, when it came to me.

I’m immediately taken to the throne room – filled with new, unknown faces. It seems the pantheon had gained in members during my absence, I muse, until I’m thrown – yes, thrown, because the fucking man couldn’t be bothered to treat me with **any** respect – under Mythal’s throne.

A graceful wave of her hand, and suddenly, I have control over my body. Or, well, apparition, I guess. I rise up from the ground, not bothering to hide my annoyance. It’s not like I would be fooling her. Both of us are aware of my decidedly low regard of her, going both ways.

 _‘I have underestimated you, and your perseverance’_ admits the goddess reluctantly, frowning with annoyance and exasperation. I suppose, no one likes to be reminded of one’s mistakes – and yet here I am, in front of her, the very proof of her previous erroneous judgement. I shrug neutrally, that’s not really my problem. In fact, I was very grateful for her attitude, as it proved immensely helpful during my previous escape. I look at her squarely, unabashed.

Murmurs rise among the courtiers at my unheard of disrespect. I stifle a snort at their righteous outrage, amused, all the while effectively ignoring the commotion by the entrance. I had caught a glimpse out of a corner of my eye, and they’re bringing in my body, and it’s just so unbelievably creepy, I would much rather face the goddess. I know what comes next, and force myself to relax, as a burst of power from her fingers forces me back into the vessel.

Much less pain this time around, though, which I’m grateful for. I did not relish surviving through that again. Though I suppose there’s no need to **grow** a body, as one is readily available, and it diminishes the power level considerably, and alongside with it, my suffering.

I extricate myself from the hands of the servants, shuddering from the unpleasant touch and quickly step away, annoyed at the invasion of my personal space. I cross my arms, and look up at the golden-haired queen, awaiting my sentence. She stands up in an obvious power play, attempting to cower me, but I am above such petty tricks. I see a flicker of frustration on her face, before it smooths again into an impregnable mask.

 _‘I suppose some means must be undertaken to ensure the situation does not repeat’_ she announces, displeased. Internally, I seethe – she is displeased?! What am I to say? I would much rather she didn’t bother, thank you. Outwardly, I keep my face impassive, merely raising my eyebrow mockingly. They won’t hear me beg for my freedom again, I’ve tried that, fruitlessly, before. No, I have to count on myself this time, as – my eyes scan the crowd searchingly – I do not see Fen anywhere. Then again, it would be unreasonable to expect him to remain here indefinitely, I reason, swallowing my disappointment.

 _‘For now, escort June’s chosen Fean’Na to her rooms – and arrange it so she does not leave, until either myself or June decide otherwise’_ commands Mythal. I tilt my head in a nod, refusing to do a courtly bow both of us know I can perform to perfection, as the bitch does not deserve my deference. She is going to lock me again, this time, permanently, if she can find a way.

My rooms remain as they were – and it disturbs me more than anything else. June really **had** been waiting this entire time – and on the way, I manage to confirm my suspicions, it has been way over  ten centuries since anyone occupied this particular part of the palace.

The most important thing is finding out as much as I can about what had changed. I had avoided the courtly intrigue like fire the last time I’ve been here, but it was the awareness of the issues that allowed it, not ignorance.

So, I approach the servants, tentatively, afraid to scare them away.

They are delighted to share the court gossip with me, as I do not lord over them my higher position, and listen with avid interest. I have learned this before – people like when someone is engrossed in their tale – or, at the very least, pretending to be. They are unreasonably distinguished by my noticing them.

The very first question I ask concerns Fen, of course.

A confirmation of Fen’s absence saddens me. Apparently, he has been gone for a few hundred years already, off studying spirits and nature of the Fade. He always had scholarly tendencies, enjoying the knowledge for itself – it’s a marvel he is not a spirit of wisdom, himself, considering how much he strives for it.

On the other hand, he lacked in the emotional aptitude, I muse, reminiscing. He didn’t have much of an empathy towards another’s plight, content to leave me be until it became clear I wouldn’t behave according to his expectations. In a way, it was his curiosity that drew him to me, as he tried to understand what made me tick, separating me from so many other nameless faceless.

Everything will be much harder without his sympathetic, supportive presence.

I abandon the direction my thoughts are going, before melancholy and despair overwhelm me, and shift the conversation to the practical matters.

The latest marvel – barely two hundred years since the revelation – is an appearance of Andruil’s favourite.

I scoff in derisive disbelief. Andruil, in a monogamous relationship? Impossible. The woman was as flighty as she was indecisive, and I have a hard time imagining such fundamental revolution within her.

They confirm my initial suspicions – her harem remains intact, as numerable as ever. But Ghilan’nain reigns supreme, first of the entourage, and Andruil always returns to her, in the end. And, as my excited, new handmaiden whispers into my ear, Andruil has gifted her the ultimate expression of love from the god – she shared her magics with Ghilan’nain, making her ascend into the powers beyond those of People.

The youngest god, born from Andruil’s love. I am astonished. It seems love is indeed capable of miracles, if the selfish, egoistical and always power hungry Anrduil had seen it fit to part with an integral part of herself for her beloved’s sake.

But these reflections invoke, involuntarily, June, and I do not want to think on him yet. So I ask about other people in court, and find out that Dirthamen and Falon’Din had pledged themselves to one another, creating from that moment on a unified front against others, no matter the issue – to the immense frustration of Elgar’nan, usually finding himself in the losing position, as the combined prowess of his two sons exceeds his own. Mythal, as usual, intervenes only in the direst of circumstances, so the tension in the air has been felt lately more often than not.

Aside from the changes in Andruil’s escort, many new nobles had also sworn themselves into different gods services, and depending on the faction, many intrigues are on, to place themselves above others, or undermine the influence of other gods. In that regard, solely the amount of vultures had increased, no changes to their nature, I decide with sudden weariness. No doubt I’ll be soon forced to deal with them myself.

Sylaise had tried, emboldened by her elder brothers’ example, to earn June’s favour – but was summarily rejected, quite a few times, before finally giving up and finding a beau of her own. She also has gathered a considerable following of her own, a little goddess of healing and fire. I am unsurprised, as I saw this staunch determination and stubbornness in her in the past already.

Finally, unable to put it off anymore, I inquire about June.

To my immense relief, June appears to be gone, creating a new part of the Eluvian network, and not expected to come back for a while yet. I breathe in more easily, soothed, for the moment. I’ll take small mercies anywhere I can find them, and not dealing with him right after coming back grants me much needed respite.

The other part of the circling stories concerns Mythal’s recent disappearance into her chambers, more often than not, deliberating over something. I feel a chill, listening to those speculations, certain her recent behaviour is concerned with me, and making me stay.

It is something I do not dwell on too much, out of  my influence, as the only hope for me is for her to fail in her endeavour.

In a way I’m unwilling to admit before myself, being in Thedas is a relief. I do not have to pretend here anything – I’m already considered a freak, June’s fancy, and thus, there are no expectations resting on my shoulders. Any peculiarity of my character, any falling out of line, is easily attributed to that, and, while they still frown dissaprovingly, little else happens. Poor thing, she cannot help being what she is, they whisper amongst themselves.

It is also incredibly frustrating, of course, their pitiful glances. I wear my dignity like an armour, stare right into the eyes of the offenders, until they turn their gazes away, shamed. I do not bend my neck, do not submit, do not adjust – I am, what I am, and my independence is not a thing to be ashamed of.

I suppose we are even, in some way. They find me barbaric and ill-mannered - and I find their servile behaviour repulsive.

I go about the days similarly to what I did before – reading, catching up with the advancements that happened during my absence, and, whenever I find a strength to do so, poke at the binds of my soul, slowly loosening them. I still want to go home, in spite of everything that had happened.

The afternoon today is no different than countless before it, as I sit by the windowsill, catching the final rays of daylight, engrossed in a lecture before me.

 _‘Fean’Na’_ a deep, strangely emotional voice comes from the door, and I lie down my book, turning towards the arriver, propped against the doorframe.

Ah. Of course. June.

He had matured. Naturally, I expected that, or at least, predicted it would be so. Still, the change is significant, and I have to stop myself from gaping.

Gone are the plump lines of youth, and the man in front of me radiates with masculinity of a well-defined and proportioned body. Gone is his youthful bashfulness, so endearing, as he moves with certainty and purpose, entering the room in casual stride, catching my jaw in his sure grasp, and lifting my head to face him.

He is really **unreasonably** good looking, Adonis from Greek mythology, if I am any judge of beauty. He catches my eyes, unwittingly wandering over his appearance, and preens proudly, with a satisfied smirk ghosting over his features.

I’m uncertain whether he is more happy to see me, or more infuriated by my departure and subsequent absence for ages. From the looks of it, neither is he, as two conflicted emotions war on his handsome, so painfully handsome, face. But underneath it, a primal, frightening hunger dwells, and I shudder, alarmed, as he grabs my hand and pulls me behind him, leading me in the direction of private chambers of Mythal’s.

 _‘My mother found a way to ensure you will not escape me again, my Fean’Na’_ he promises me on the way, casting a sultry yet forceful look behind his back.

It frightens, terrifies me even more. His confidence in the outcome is frightening.

We enter Mythal’s study, and on entrance, I’m passed into the hands of two stone-faced servants, who tie me up against the chair, restricting my movement again.

What’s with those people and immovability?

I try to keep coldly quiet, bound, facing both Mythal and June fearlessly. Which is a fucking bluff, because I’m at my wits end, as once again, there’s only my pride that prevents me from breaking down.

My pride.

But in the end, my nerves are far too strained to maintain the dignified silence, so I reach to my anger instead, to my rage, to help me face what’s coming.

‘ _Your arrogance and disregard of others will bring about your downfall. I pray to the Creators I will be allowed to witness it._ ’ I spit in Mythal’s direction, as the goddess finishes the preparations. She lifts her head, and smiles mockingly, before focusing onto her inner self, and beginning.

A geas.

She is placing a fucking geas on me.

The moment I realize the nature of the ritual, I’m terrified. After years of practice, I can easily see the golden thread of power, stitching and sewing and binding my soul to this plane – and just as easily, I disregard the pain it brings, throwing all of myself to try and prevent the completion of it.

All my efforts are laughable in the face of her might – and once I manage to unravel a part of a spell, through the precise, pinpoint accuracy of my meagre magical potential, she swats me away from the spell, like one would an irritating fly.

I sag in restraints, thoroughly drained, and close my eyes, unwilling to observe as June joins in, adding his own, blue strand to the web of binds engulfing me.

Everything I’ve done, all meaningless. A moment of their attention, a whisper of magic, a touch of interest, and I'm forever locked. Indeed, they are gods – and we merely puppets, dancing in their palm.

I barely realize when the rope falls, numb, as June picks me up and cradles me in his arms, as if I were as light as a feather. With a respectful nod to Mythal, he leaves the rooms with me still unmoving, shocked.

I wake up from the stupor only once we are in his part of the palace, once the door behind us slam, and he lowers me lightly on his bed.            

I’m suddenly aware that the boy June is gone, and his place takes June the man. He lavishes me with soft kisses, covering every inch of my body, running his hands over my sides in wonder, as if I was the most precious jewel in the world, as I shy away, and say weak pleas to him, I beg you, just to let me go. Haven’t you done enough? Ignoring my words, with petal like touch, he pleasures me, expertly, without a doubt – until finally, in spite of my repulsion, my body betrays me and as I scream out my release, something in me breaks. Wordless tears fall down my cheeks from behind my closed eyelids, as I refuse to look at him anymore. He licks them away, planting gentle kisses, and whispers sweet words of reassurance,

_‘Hush, ma’Fean’Na, ma’vhenan. I would never hurt you.’_

His words betray the vastness of his ignorance, of his egotism, as he calls me his heart, his everything, and in that moment, I understand that I hate him. How can this arrogant, powerful being **dare** to claim to love me, all the while shredding every last bit of my soul, tearing me apart? My eyes snap open, and I glare at him, wordlessly communicating that I do not wish to hear him speak.

He obliges, but does not stop, and why would he? He worships my skin, and soon, claims me, taking me over and over again, a starved beast after years of hunger. Time blurs, as I lay motionlessly, until finally, he tires of it, and bringing me close to his muscled body, falls asleep.

I lie in the darkness, wide awake, and tremble from revulsion. I feel dirty, tainted, as if his hands are still over my body, and soon slip out of the bed and into the bathroom, retching out the contents of my stomach – and as I haven’t eaten much, the vile acidic taste permeates my mouth.

I look in the mirror and shudder at the sight. A lifeless doll, all light is gone from my eyes, and not an ounce of fight left. At the moment, even more than June, I detest myself, for my weakness, for my inability to pick up the broken pieces of my soul, inability to put it back together. Who am I? What is this weak, pathetic creature, staring back at me? Where is the proud, proud beyond reason me, who fought for her freedom with tooth and nail, and now, can barely lift her head?

I turn away from the reflection, and walk out of the chambers, running, but not quite, seeking solace in the favourite alcove of mine and Fen’s. He isn’t here, of course – and for once, it’s a relief, a blessing. I couldn’t possibly face him, look him in the eye.

At first, I just stare at the wall, hugging my knees, numb. In shock. It’s not only June, no – what happened at.. home? Do I have a home anymore? It is also a part of it. I feel helpless, and wrecked, and ravaged, and torn. I was rejected in one reality, violated and bound in another. There’s no way out, not for me, not anywhere, and I drown, drown…

I start mindlessly playing with a crystal goblet, left over on the parapet, a sip of a red wined left over on its bottom. But it is too pure, too... pristine, clean cut and sharp edged, as I used to be, sharp and decisive, and determined... and suddenly, I cannot hold it anymore, and it slips from my fingers, shattering on the pavement into countless pieces. Who am I, to take precious things, when I cannot hold onto what’s most important?

A prick of pain catches my attention, and I glance down to realize one of the shards broke my skin, a red line marring my shin.

Slowly, so very slowly, I reach out and touch the wound, fascinated by the pain, by the release it brings. I bring one of my bloodied fingers to my lips, tasting the metallic flavour, before deliberately grasping onto the piece of glass lying by my feet, sanguine from the wound it struck.

My grip is too tight, and the uneven edges cut through the skin on my palm and my fingers, and it burns. But it’s a distraction, as blood washes away the foulness and filth, and pain washes away thoughts. It is comforting, its absorbing, its liberating – in a way nothing else is, not anymore. I apply thousands of light cuts, entranced by the crimson against my skin. Pristine, he called it. Beautiful. Not anymore, the darkness in me whispers. Not ever again. I want to return at least some, semblance, speck, of the pain June had caused me – and I know that finding me marred, disfigured, will hurt him, like nothing had ever before. Each cut wipes away some of the lingering sensation of his hateful touch, and I do not even realize when my entire body is covered in bleeding wounds.

The red liquid flows evenly, and soon, I weaken from its loss. Bathing in my own blood.

Somewhere, somehow, within, I know that I’m crossing a line that is not meant to be crossed. Yet I’m broken, uncaring, as the remainder of my pride broke with me, broken beyond saving. I do not care anymore, because I’m a caged bird and without any hope, and stripped of my pride, there’s nothing left for me here to hold onto anymore.

Lastly, viciously, I poke at my eyes, pushing the smaller pieces of glass inside. The beautiful eyes, which he touched, kissed the eyelids fervently, admired. Mirror of the soul, people say – but I have no soul left, torn from me, and chained, and bound, and I refuse, will not, bow down to anyone. Ever.

Blinded and weakened, I sit down, leaning my head against the wall, still holding the bloodied fragment of a goblet, and breath in deeply, immersing myself in the sweeping pain. Liberating.

The sound of blood, trickling from my eyes onto the pavement, slowly lulls me to sleep.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those curious - Fean'Na was inspired by this fanart. http://selenada.deviantart.com/art/Ice-Princess-483129428


	6. Mending Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ASSUMPTIONS:  
> 1\. Thedas is the sole continent, a whole world of DA.  
> 2\. Original Inquisition timeline is around 8 years, and not 2 years, like it is according to Wiki.

**Mending Pride**

Voices, rising and falling above my head, as I float in a daze, white, shimmering waves  surrounding me.

What happened? Where am I, so lost, so alone?

After a few seconds, it comes to me – I tried to kill myself.        

Does it mean I’m dead? I wonder, slightly curious, but overall, oddly detached, as if it had no meaning. Maybe it doesn’t, maybe as long as I don’t care – nothing does.

We often judge things on the basis of their importance to us – but rarely stop to think whether any of it has an actual value. I valued my dreams – and they trapped me, in a golden cage of a world. I valued my family – but they didn’t, not for what I truly was, only their own perception of how I ought to be. I valued my pride – and it brought me to my knees.

‘ _Fean’Na! Don’t let go, my friend, don’t you dare to give up…_ ’ I hear familiar voice begging fervently into my ear, yet strangely disjointed, as if coming from afar. Fen? But it is somehow different. Is it the timbre of tone that changed, is it even Fen, or merely a figment of my imagination, a result of my hope? I cannot wrap my head around it, and soon, capitulate – I’m so tired. So very tired.

‘ _Sylaise! She…_ ’ and I drift away, falling deeper and deeper into the comfortable, enticing whiteness.

I remember a long forgotten events from my childhood. The smiling face of my mum as I was showing off my first paintings, the awkward, somewhat askew lines made with the uncertain hand of a youngster. But she was so proud of me, regardless of the distortion of the image… And then the dream alters, and this time, I face her disappointed, pained face, as she tells me she cannot deal with my addiction anymore, that she is giving me into the care of physicians. I try to forcefully squirm away from the image, it is too painful, to raw a wound, and in my efforts, I slip away, feel my soul flickering, as the white is slowly being devoured by darkness.

I feel I should be alarmed by it. But I’m not, the all-consuming dark even more enticing than white – I know that once it engulfs me, I’ll be able to rest. Isn’t it what I wanted in the first place? To let go?

Yet still, something bothers me, disturbs my peace. A plea, reaching deep into my dreams, a plea for strength, and a reassurance - all is not lost, Fean’Na. You can still find your way home.

There’s only one person that knows me well enough to find words that would move me. At first, I do not listen. The world is too cruel, too constraining, and I know, if I return, my suffering will not end – and the oblivion is so inviting, so **peaceful**.

But Fen is stubborn, unyielding. Whispering, imploring, convincing, my dear friend, do not allow your flame to be extinguished, until I stop, and I listen. In the end, he succeeds in swaying me – maybe there’s something that still awaits me. Maybe the doors to the cage are not sealed shut, as I believed them to be, maybe I can find a way to overcome my peers’, my family’s, disappointment.

It is a breakthrough point, when I decide to cling onto my existence, when I start fighting back against the darkness that attempts to swallow me.

I become more cognizant with each passing second, resurfacing from underwater. Not yet awake, and the short moments of half-lucidity tire me, not yet strong enough to break a hold the dreams have over me, but close. Close enough to hear the angry conversation, over my head.

I’m glad I have the excuse of my slumber to shield me, as I recognize June’s voice, as usual, demanding of something, until Fen interrupts him furiously.

_‘It’s all your fault! You defiled her, took away her purity, and now, she refuses to cope with this existence anymore!’_

Defiled. What an apt description, I marvel dispassionately. Accurate and to the point. Fen certainly doesn’t beat around the bush. The voices above my head waver – or maybe it’s just me that fades away again?

I struggle to hold onto my slipping  consciousness, slightly curious that Fen got so rattled. So unlike the composed, impervious him.

 _‘I believe it may be best to leave her in Fen’Harel’s care for now, my son.’_  I tense internally, irritated by the tried patience of Mythal’s.  _‘They have a history of good rapport, and the most important thing, for now, is stabilizing her condition.’_

Is it my imagination, or does the infallible goddess seem a bit out of it? Shaken, perhaps? What a revelation. Is suicide here really that much of a rarity? I suppose it might be – it’s much harder to sacrifice infinity than twenty, thirty years.

_‘But…’_

_‘Enough!’_  the adamant, displeased tone of Elgar’nan’s cuts through his son’s protests.  _‘The word of the… incident has spread across Thedas, making People question you. And by extension, all of us. You will deal with this mess, and on your return, we will revisit the issue again.’_

I knew he was my favourite in the pantheon for a reason, as he firmly puts June in his place.

Though it’s no surprise that June had failed to figure out anything from what had happened. I guess he’ll only begin to learn once I  **actually**  die, and not just barely.

After that, I’m left in peace, unbothered. Only people ever dropping by are Fen, who could just as well live in the room, considering how often he checks up on me, and Sylaise, who is responsible for taking care of my injuries. There’s also my handmaiden, Neria, ever present, ever helpful, anticipating my wishes without me having spoken them.

Soon, I’m beginning to hold conversations, and slowly, become able to ingest some light meals, and steadfastly recovering. Most of my wounds were superficial, and are already starting to lose their red tinge. Neria reassures me of that – and from my perspective, the pain stopped bothering me, becoming merely an annoying twinge once I move carelessly. With time, and proper care, they will fade completely, claims Sylaise. My eyes are, however, an entirely different story.

I am well aware of the severity of the damage done to them – I had  **intended**  to maim them. Sylaise does not allow me to take the bandage off aside from check-ups, worried it would impede my recovery. As the sunrays are offending the tender, slowly healing cells, and I’m relieved when they are covered again.  

Being blind – even temporarily, my healer assures me – strangely, helps to put everything into perspective. I am able to…  **see**  things more clearly, during these days of inactivity, laying quietly in bed, left to my thoughts.

What hurts me – more than I would care to admit – is skittishness of Fen’s around me. Even though I can well understand its causes. It’s clear he has no idea how to behave towards me, that seeing me so vulnerable had somehow changed our relationship. He threads lightly, weighing his words, testing ground, uncertainly. There are half-finished sentences, and hesitancy, and more words unspoken than said out loud.

Yet, no matter his apparent discomfort, he stays. Always near, watching, guarding over me, even if he doesn’t know how to help. And as I get better, patching up my soul, gathering the scattered pieces, he also becomes more certain. Even though I do not return to my previous self, not entirely – some things lost forever – he accepts it, treats the changes with curious delight, not condemnation. Even if my wit is sharper, and the humour I find in situations darker, he doesn’t judge. 

I am vaguely aware that Fen changed his form, as I had felt his light touches, and saw a shadowy figure in my dreams. I may be blind, but I am far from stupid – and I can differentiate between the soft sound of paws, and decisive steps of shoed feet. I am surprised I do not care, much, about that – I would have expected to be as uneasy in his presence as I am with other males, but I trust him. Implicitly. He is still the same wolf to me, deep inside, he hasn’t changed.

I do not ask for his reasoning behind the transformation, as he is not as open with me as he once was, and I have no wish to drive him away - I remain forever grateful for his company.

But the one to assists me the most in getting over my depression is not Fen, though his staunch, supportive presence is certainly a part of it, but Sylaise.

At first, we are both rigid around one another, and she refers to me with official professionalism, describing my condition to me in detail, as she moves around me, poking and checking and applying salves, and teaching Neria how she can do the same. It is much disconcerting, her fluttering light touches invading my personal space when I can’t prepare for them, and I have to teach myself to relax, as the constant stiffening strains and aggravates the wounds.

Being blind has an unexpected sides to it, certainly.

Naturally, with the passage of time, we grow more comfortable. She starts speaking of meaningless court gossip, reporting with a light humour the recent affairs and scandals, and I listen, with avid interest, to her insightful observations. And then, one day, surprising both of us, I reply, with a witty, slightly morbid quip that forces a startled laugh out of her.

I like to think she is genuine in her unassuming friendship with me. I think she had gotten over her misplaced anger with me, and her jealousy over me holding June’s heart. I had put her assumptions, that I had stolen away June from her on purpose, rather decisively, to rest. She stopped blaming me, and then, possibly, most likely, out of guilt, extended her hand to me.

She confesses quietly to being shocked and dismayed at finding me in such pitiful state, when Fen had demanded her assistance. And then, as if a flood gate opened, everything comes pouring out of her – as she feared for my life, feared for June’s reaction, feared that she might, - for the first time in her life – fail. Because her powers weren’t enough, and as long as I refused her help, I was balancing on a very thin line, so close to death I barely bore breath. Because no matter her intentions, the chance I would lose my eyesight entirely was more than likely – and even now, she is uncertain how much of it I’ll recover.

She apologizes profusely for that, as well. Blindly, I reach out to her, and reassuringly squeeze her hand, as I place no blame on her shoulders. Sympathizing with her fright, and, compelled by her honesty, I return it with my own.

First words are stuttered, weak, as I force myself to speak against the constricting throat. I begin with my travels, paint my world before her – I do not attempt to glorify it, truthfully depicting all of its faults and problems – but she is fascinated, and asks for more. She resembles the young June at the moment, and I smile melancholically, remembering how well  **that** went. I recount my meeting June, and soon, everything is out in the open, painful and raw, as my voice quivers in unspeakable agony – since the words are not enough, they pale, in comparison to reality. How do I explain, describe, how it feels to have one’s soul shattered, torn and shattered, until there was no recovering it?

I can feel the wet drops falling on my hand, which she holds tightly, firmly, lamenting for me, when I can’t, not at first.

But then, something in me unlocks, and I can feel the rising tide, unfurling within me, and I start to cry as well. I weep for my lost innocence, I weep for my tortured soul, I weep for the death of the girl named Joanne, who will never return, ripped apart by her suffering. The bandage over my eyes soon sags, wetting from my warm tears.

It’s a relief, being able to cry again.

I do not know how much time passes before our quiet sobs recede. Sylaise sniffs, and while delicately dressing my eyes anew – the salt against the raw wounds has begun to sting - asks me tentatively,

_‘Do you blame your parents for what happened?’_

‘ _Yes_.’ I hesitate. ‘ _No_.’ A heavy sigh.  _‘I don’t know.’_

I can feel her confusion at that, as her hands freeze. 

 _‘I often think on it, especially recently. I did not even attempt to explain. I just… expected them to accept me in stride’_  I exhale, continuing bitterly _, ‘Of course, not to say they_ ** _shouldn’t_** _but… I had given them a cause to worry, and, at a first glance, an evident, obvious, explanation.’_  I pause, mulling over it, before adding a bit reluctantly,

_‘I do not know what I would have done in their place, knowing what they did.’_

I fall silent, and she does not prod any further.  

Saying it all out loud is a weight off my shoulders, and everything seems easier afterwards. More manageable. I rapidly get better, and start showing off some of my personality again, a touch a humour, an apt remark, and my unending curiosity.

At first, I am crippled by the lack of sight – even as I try moving, I bump against the furniture, bruising my already battered body, before I learn to rely on touch and sound more. It’s disorientating, at first, until I learn to stretch, manipulate my aura, so that it encompasses my immediate surroundings, allowing me to perceive, create an imaginary outline of the space around me in my mind.

It leads to other experiments I never would have thought to try without that loss, and I find myself playing with my magic again. I cannot observe the shapes my spells take, and I feel frustrated, as they fail, more often than not, as I fail in replicating their exact patterns. But I try to not let it discourage me, and begin anew.

These are better days – but there are also worse ones. The days when I wallow in despair, looking at the holes left over in my soul. When I involuntarily flinch away from males, and feeling their surprise, hate the weakness in me. When I miss the vibrancy I used to have, the energetic stubbornness, and I feel incomplete, empty, passionless… aimless.

It’s one of these days, when I realize something, subtly inspecting the binds of geas placed over my soul.

Fucking wolf.

Fucking wolf, I repeat to myself morosely. He lied. To save me, he had fucking lied.

But there’s no bite to the thought, nor even much of a surprise – just resignation. I do not have enough energy to rage.

To be precise, technically, he had merely omitted a tiny, yet crucial thing. This is what we, both of us, do – weave the words to achieve the desired outcome. I just never expected of him to use it against me.

There’s no lifting the geas, no squirming out of the binds, not permanently. I can lift them, weaken them, certainly – for a time. A stolen moment, before I’m forced back, forced to return here yet again, and to work on the spell anew.

A never ending tick and tock – once you hear one, you know another one comes. Inevitably.

Unless, of course, the bitch and her spawn suddenly find it in themselves to free me, in an inexplicable bout of generosity.

Right. When hell freezes over… – or, to be more local, when Creators descent onto Thedas.

I run a hand across my hair and sigh in defeat.

Yet, when he comes into the rooms, I cannot hold back my bitterness.

 _‘I didn’t think you would be this selfish’_  I state flatly. Fen draws a sharp, raspy breath, and I know, that he understands what I’m talking about – and does not deny the accusation. Of course, it would be a wasted effort on his part – both of us know each other far too well for such nonsensical attempts.

 _‘I suppose, in this regard, you are quite similar to June’_  I muse out loud, dispassionately. He flinches at the sting of the pointed blow, I hear the faint rustle of his robes. I feel a tingle of guilt over it, but its soon smothered by my certainty that he deserves the censure.

Because I’m right. He wished me to remain, to stay alive – just like June did. Disregarding my plainly expressed desires, since there could be no conceivable doubt regarding them.

Ever since then, we hold each other at a chilly distance. I do not like what the wolf – former wolf, to be more accurate, but of course, he retains both of his forms, so maybe he is still a wolf? Did. He visits less, uncomfortable with my quiet, unchanging accusation hanging in the air. There are times I regret my words, missing him – but then I remind myself that he shouldn’t have manipulated me. Not me. It’s a betrayal I cannot find it in me to forgive so easily.

I have an unexpected visitor, coming in just after Sylaise had left after one of her regular check-ups – Neria, with her silvery voice, officially announces the arrival of the Ghilan’nain.

I have heard many unfavourable rumours comparing her gait to cow on the pasture, and always believed them slanders born from envy – until now. It is clear, as she saunters in, that whatever nature had grated her – supposedly – in beauty, it had skimped in grace.

 _‘I was soo curious about meeting you’_  she trills excitedly, and I frown at the high tones irritating my ears. Luckily, my eyes are, as usually, covered by the white fabric, so the goddess has no way to discern my annoyance.  _‘But Sylaise and Fen’Harel, the boors,  weren’t letting anyone in. They said you were too weak for visitors.’_

I can literally  **hear**  the pout on her face, she is such an expressive creature.  

She sits on the edge of my bed, closing in onto me, and I back away, uneasy with her invasion of my personal space.

_‘Why did you do it?’_

She touches the bandage, a curious little poke, before quickly withdrawing her hand. I run my fingers through my silvery locks, trying to think on the simplest way in which to convey at least some of my problem.

_‘You like Andruil, right?’_

_‘Of course I do!’_  She replies immediately, honestly.  _‘She is wonderful…’_  Ghilan’nain swoons, and I fight down a growl, trying to contain my ire. I never had much patience for fools.

_‘So imagine, if you please, that you are yourself – loving Andruil, but the one who chose you is Falon’Din.’_

_‘Eww, gross. Males are gross’_  I can see her scrunching her beautiful faces into a grimace of pure disgust with my imagination, before she asks,  _‘so, like, you like females?’_

_‘That’s not the point?’_

The confusion radiates from her in waves, and this time, I cannot stop the groan.

Ugh, the girl – goddess – is a bird brain. The classical blonde from the jokes back home – only, she’s not blonde, aside from her mind.

_‘You know, never mind. I give up.’_

How did this girl survive the court? Ah, right. They fear Andruil enough to leave this half-wit alone.

I easily steer the conversation away – Ghilan’nain’s focus is flighty, easily jumping from one issue to another, and soon, I’m regaled to a most recent gossip concerning Dirthamen’s secret lover.

Personally, I very much doubt the credibility of it, as I’m very much aware of his stalwart devotion to his brother.

But ‘Nain is convinced there must be something to it, and isn’t that interesting?

I’m completely exhausted by the time she finally leaves. The inane prattle has tired me, and I’m glad for some peace.

Unexpectedly, the topic returns, picked up by Neria, once I’m out in the garden, enjoying fresh air, after weeks of enclosure within the palace wall’s.

 _‘So. Why did you do it, mistress?’_  I stop playing around with magic, surprised, yet pleased by her initiative.

 _‘Hmm?’_  I prompt her to continue a bit distractedly, lost in my thoughts. Unreasonably, the loss of my sight had emboldened her. I do not know why the fact of my current disability has such an effect, as she knows, surely, I’m as dangerous as ever – if not more. I do seek my magic more easily, more naturally than before, as it is now one of the means of communicating with the world.

 _‘Lord June is not a bad master to have. And yet…’_  she trails off, and I can feel the air move from her impatient gesture. Sometimes, she forgets about the bandage covering my head – if Sylaise is to be believed, I cannot risk the tender irises for at least a week more.  

I do not mind, in fact, I revel in it. It gives me peace, as most are uncertain how to deal with me, disturbed by the sight of the cloth covering upper half of my face. The visit from Ghilan’Nain was the only one I had to bear, thankfully.

I consider her thoughtfully for a moment, enclosed in my dark world, flexing my hands in front of me. I ponder how to explain a concept of freedom, of pride, to someone who was born without it. Finally, with a light tug of my power, I create a strand of power, which allows me to catch a butterfly hovering over a rose-like flower.

Neria’s eyes widen at the masterful accuracy, and she claps in enthusiastic endorsement. I snort – showing off was not my motivation, - and open my fist, displaying the fragile insect. I can feel the delicate gusts of winds it creates with the tiny movements of its wings.

 _‘Look at it. I’m sure it’s beautiful’_  I implore her, and soon, her steps come closer, a bit hesitantly at first, as she bends down over my hand with bated breath.

 _‘For mortals, freedom is like wings. Take it away, and we cannot take in flight, achieve our potential, forever limited to crawling’_  I mercilessly rip the tender wings away from the powerless creature, and Neria stifles a sudden, anguished cry. I can feel the creature convulsing on my hand, while the young girl in front of me tries to calm her rapid breath. I scared her. I hope it gets her thinking.

Finally, she swallows, and takes a deep breath, before observing,

_‘But we are not butterflies.’_

Well, at the very least, she has grasped the metaphor.

 _‘Ah, but does the fact we survive having our wings ripped from us make it right?’_  I ask her, but hearing the telling, strained silence, I know she hadn’t understood. Exhaling heavily, I squash the insect in my hand – a small mercy – and abandon the subject.

Finally comes the day when my bandage is taken down. I blink a few times, getting used to the brightness again, and cast a glance about the room. In the corner stands Fen, clearly uncertain of his welcome, and I take a moment to study him covertly, as Sylaise fusses over me.

He is most certainly handsome, though not in the overshadowing, aggressive sort of way, like June. His is more restrained look, of a lean, balanced figure, and severe, sort of… scholarly, I guess?  Even the surprising, at first glance, baldness, somehow melds with the image. I can still see the wolf underneath it all. It fits him.

Suddenly, I flush, escaping with my eyes, realizing how inappropriate my behaviour is. No matter my curiosity regarding his new form, unsated for months of my blindness.

I am ogling him like a hormonal teenage girl, for fucks sake!

Finished with her tests, Sylaise lowers her head, saying,

 _‘I did everything I could but…’_  she pauses, shame and sadness on her face,  _‘I do not think you will be able to see magic ever again.’_

 _‘What do you mean?!’_  jumps in aggressively Fen.  _‘You are a fucking goddess of_ ** _healing_** _!’_

I forgive him his manipulative ways in that very moment. I’m touched by his indignation, outrage on my behalf. It reminds me of every time he took care of me, of the countless times he had supported me – even when he didn’t know how to, flailing desperately on the unknown territory, grasping at straws.

I know, it will most likely happen again. It’s him and me, and we both enjoy the game of playing others. There will come a day, when, in my best interest, he will reach to deceit again.

And there will come a day when I will do the same.

I hope he will find it in him to forgive me as well.

But, for the moment…

 _‘It’s fine, Fen.’_  I stop him from accosting the remorseful, cowering under her guilt – unreasonably, as she extended every effort – Sylaise.

 _‘It’s not alright! Do you…’_  he turns to face me, and snaps his mouth shut, flabbergasted by the warmth in my eyes.

I smile gently, and repeat softly,

_‘Everything is fine.’_

Both of us know I’m not talking about my impairment anymore. He hesitantly reaches out to touch my cheek, and I snuggle against his hand.

We are fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, let me express my gratitude for the flood of comments. I am humbled, and forever thankful for your support. Special props to Alexstrasza and everyone else who figured some of it out, at least partially. Keep asking questions, already this story had grown beyond my expectations thanks to your insight!  
> 


	7. Winged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ASSUMPTIONS:  
> 1\. Thedas is the sole continent, a whole world of DA.  
> 2\. Original Inquisition timeline is around 8 years, and not 2 years, like it is according to Wiki.

**Winged **Pride****

It is a relief, not having to rely on Neria anymore to get around. I take full advantage of that, exploring the palace anew, overjoyed with the newfound sense of freedom it brings, no longer chained to the bed by my injuries. I’m strong enough for short outings, and, sensing, anticipating, my wishes, Fen starts taking me along with him on his expeditions.

Understandably, our first excursions are brief, as Fen is very careful not to overtax me. He introduces his spirit friends to me, and shares some of his findings regarding their nature.

To be perfectly honest, I do not share his fascination with the them. They seem decidedly one-dimensional to me, and while it’s dictated by their nature, I do not find anything particularly attention-grabbing in that. The predictability of their actions, responses, interests – it bores me. Much more engaging is observing Fen, covertly, and with a laugh, who positively glows with excitement, describing the connection between the Fade, and this embodiment of emotion, constructs of mortal attributes, which are spirits.

As my condition and fortitude improve, our journeys get longer, boundless. We explore Thedas together, and I allow my curiosity to run wild,  which Fen watches over with an indulgent smile. I show him the world through my eyes – and I can see, he learns to appreciate certain things he didn’t value before, and begins to notice the problems that escaped him. 

It is a small measure of independency I gain in my life – the leave to come and go as I please. The time in the wilds, when I can breathe the sharper air of mountains, or the salty one by the sea, or the mossy one, of damp fallen leaves. The days when the sun shines on our path, and days of thunderous storms, with electricity splitting the darkened skies, so clear, so visible, unlike anything I saw on Earth – and not because I couldn’t, but because there was never any time for that, so swamped, so rushed by my obligations I was. Incapable of stopping for a moment, to appreciate the wonders of nature.

There are things I am able to see that simply do not exist back home as well – like griffons, the mighty, magnificent flyers, or dragons in their full, predatory glory, the peak of evolution. Or many other creatures and wonders - Thedas is still young, untouched.

Fen teaches me how to survive in the wilderness, how to hunt and spark a fire. How to look for shelter, and if one isn’t readily available, how to sleep among the crowns of trees, away, and concealed, from the dangers of the night on the prowl. I’ll never be much of an archer – my aim leaves much to be desired – but through the careful manipulation of power, I’m able to correct the arrow’s course to hit the mark.

Sometimes, he gets frustrated with me, and my disability. It’s hard, explaining, teaching magic to one who cannot freely see the strands of power, and more often than not, he breaks our lessons in the middle, stalking away to calm his irritation. He knows it’s something that can’t be helped, and so, inevitably, he returns. I learn the patterns by touch, by feel, after thousands of repetitions, I am able to recreate some of his spells.

Some, unfortunately, remain out of my reach, whether by the lack of power, or by their complexity.

But I learn to cope, and learn to deal. My perception of magic gives me unique perspective, and my time being blind had taught me to extend my aura beyond myself to examine the environment. It became a second nature to me – and soon, I’m able to use it to sneak onto unsuspecting animals. At times, it’s for sport, at times, it’s for kill, and at times, I’m better off slipping away, unnoticed. I master the ability to contain sound within my aura, muffling, suppressing the noise of my steps, and use it to fool his unsuspecting ears, taking delight whenever I manage to surprise him. It becomes a game between the two of us, as he starts using more and more of his superior senses to detect me, and I find creative ways of getting to him still.  

And thus, I find ways to enjoy life, even in this golden cage in Thedas, and begin seeing my actions for what they truly were – a weakness. I tried to run away, discouraged, and disheartened, shattered. Suicide is not an answer, it’s just an end – and giving up is just so not **me**. I’ll learn, I’ll adjust – I’ll grow stronger, and nothing will be able to break me anymore.

I start perceiving freedom as a state of mind – as long as we believe ourselves chained, then we are. Nothing, and no one, can take away our pride, unless we let them. I tell that to Fen – and he smiles, as if saying, you had only just figured it out?

I flush, embarrassed, and touch his arm in silent apology.

I put him through a lot.

We are on our way back, when the word on the streets of Arlathan spreads – June had returned. My heart freezes, for in spite of my revelations, I’m still far from well, still not ready to face him. One look at my ashen face, and Fen turns our mounts around, and we leave.

I spend the night unable to sleep, shaken. I am ashamed of my weakness, and Fen, likely realizing it, wisely says not a word. Silently, he takes care of our necessities, as I stare mindlessly into fire, gathering my strength, preparing myself, for the inevitable, unwanted, meeting.

It is a common knowledge, by the time June returns, that his chosen swears by the wolf. That, if she was allowed to, she would never return to the God’s of Creation side. I do nothing to quell the rumours – if I attempted it, they would only get worse. But… I fear June’s reaction. It scares me.

By the morning, I am utterly sickened by my own reactions and fears. Pride rears its stubborn head, once again, lending me aid. I refuse to cower, I refuse to be trapped again – whether it’s by June, or my own anxiety. I’m stronger than that.

So we return to the glorious Arlathan, and I ride with my head held high, and meet June’s eyes without flinching.

Proudly.

Miraculously – unexpectedly – maybe on Mythal’s advice? June does not forbid me from travelling with the wolf. I think some part of him understands it would cripple me again, that this is the one thing that has to remain mine – and it’s his capitulation and my victory, that he accepts it.

Later, I find out, it’s thanks to Sylaise’s interference.

 _‘I’ve spoken with my brother’_ she says quietly. _‘June is not a bad person, but… my mother had always indulged him, more than any one of us – her prodigal child.’_ She gives me a knowing look, and a warning, which I do not understand until much, much later. _‘Tread lightly.’_

The most ironical thing is Sylaise was completely on point, and June does not comprehend why what he did was so wrong. He had never taken an unwilling lover before – more, never before had he encountered someone who didn’t want to become his lover, though from what I’m told, he was somewhat selective on that front. He does not understand why it hurt me so, especially since, in his eyes, he was the perfect partner anyone would dream of.

He does not understand what he deprived me of, by stealing my world. In his perception, it’s inferior, in multiple ways, to Thedas. It has no magic, and, he knows from my words, that the life is finite. I suppose, some part of him believes he had **saved** me from my inevitable demise.

I can even agree with him on that, partially.

But, of course, he misses the point.

No matter his lack of understanding, after the talk with his sister, he begins courting me. Properly, this time, showering me with gifts and sweet words, and poetry – which is terrible, by the way. He has little to no talent to speak of, and would have been better off reciting an acclaimed poet’s work. He actually **asks** for my time, and, when I deny him, does not force the issue. Slowly, I stop being afraid of him - much.

I’m not stupid though, and do not test him often. I do not return his affections, not in a way he would like, but I refrain from doing anything that could be considered an outright rejection. I’m always conscious of the reality, that the only reason he bothers, is because he is certain he can sway me. He’ll never simply **let go** , no matter my desires on the subject – I had long understood that his adamant feelings towards me are more of an obsession, rather than love.

It seems to be a common thing among them, the undiluted passion towards their beloved – I can see it in a way Elgar’nan looks at Mythal, Dirthamen at Falond’Din, Andruil at Ghilan’nain. Even Sylaise is not exempt from this rule, though she had managed to let go of June – but in turn, she is even more desperately devoted to her chosen. Though, sticking to the truth, none of the others take it quite as far as June does. 

There are days I genuinely pity him - he has no chance at succeeding in his endeavour, and gaining my heart. I am incapable of simply **forgetting** what has been done to me, no matter how much he tries to bury it beneath the kindness, and generosity, and thoughtfulness.

After a much exaggerated tale of my dealings with June spreads, the others recall what Dirthamen once called me – Pride.

Generally, the word _Solas_ is decidedly masculine in form. So they make adjustment, softening it, making it more suitable for female – and I’m called _Sola,_ with the very silky, breathed out l. Because even in my weakness I do not bend, explains to me one of the servants, in a hushed, awed voice.

I find a certain, dark humour in the situation – they had only begun to appreciate me at the peak of my failure. To be fair, though, it’s my final survival that inspires them, and I cannot resent them for that – it inspires me as well.

It is slightly disconcerting to find oneself in the middle of quiet, peaceful rebellion against the regime of gods – as its symbol, no less. They choose to follow Fen’Harel, ultimately, the one who saved Pride – because that tale spreads, too. And because he asks for nothing, is in want of nothing, and yet, is a legendary, supreme being, a patron worth following.

Fen is just as astounded by the outcome, and his unexpected rise to prominence, as I am by mine.

But he tries to rise up to the challenge, properly taking care of his faithful, unwanted as they are, and takes up courtly duties sacrificing his studies to ensure their well-being.

The other gods are disgruntled by the sudden shift of the power, and begrudgingly welcome him amidst them. Mythal takes him firmly under her wing, the only one genuinely happy with his elevation, even Sylaise – my sweet, dear Sylaise – put off by it.

It also wins me unexpected – and quite reluctant – respect from All-Mother. I think she had always intended on him, Fen, to take on this role, only he wasn’t ready.

To be honest, he still isn’t, not entirely, though he’s getting there.

I would like to think part of the credit for this growth lies with me, that through his conversations with me he has understood the value of free will of living beings. That through it, he has grown to appreciate what it means that People have placed their belief in him. The selfish wolf, who had found beauty and interest in souls of others.

But that would be far too conceited on my part – it’s all on him. It was him who was capable of looking beyond his well-structured, easy world, it was him who found compassion, and understanding, and courage – yes, courage – to take up this trial. And he delivers superbly, even if he isn’t certain, even if there are times when he is lost.  

He is not flawless, by any means. Tends to overanalyse things, believes himself infallible – so confident in his wisdom, in the wealth of his knowledge. He forgets, lost in his books and schemes and strategizes, that predicting everything is impossible, that the most random element of all plans are People, as they can run counter to any prediction, but also, exceed them - but he has me by his side, to remind him of that.

And, of course, a trait both of us share, in abundance. Pride. It can help to survive in the worst of circumstances, I can personally attest to that, but its loss is felt so keenly it destroys. It gives courage, and determination, and certainty. But it shares face, kinship, with arrogance, and both can, have tendency, to look down on others, disregard them.

My pride makes me detest those too weak to resist, to fight on – it made me detest myself, after all, at one point. Fen’Harel’s pride disavows those who do not seek the truth, the knowledge, choosing to rest safely behind the walls of their ignorance. Kind of ironic, yet strangely fitting, that the things we spurn, are both our past failings.

At first, I do not realize what is happening – what had already happened. We go on about travelling as we did, a bit more purposely than before, as his duties have increased, and he has to intervene on behalf of his believers. Mostly, he plays the role of a negotiator, not granting any extravagant wishes – it wouldn’t suit him, either way, and if that’s what people desire, they’re much better off applying for Mythal’s favour – or so he claims.

People are used to seeing us together, even though I am merely a glorified companion, incapable of assisting him in any way that matters, aside from my presence. But it’s the tale of Fen’Harel and graceful Pride, and it’s expected… And I find that I do not particularly mind that.

I’m glad to just observe him, as he shifts into his role, masterfully crafted mask of a god, and I wonder if there will come a time when it stops being merely a pretention, an appearance he puts on. When he will fully accept the role, the honour – and the burden.

I also wonder whether I really want that. To share the magnificent, glorious him with so many others, when thus far, only I knew, appreciated his worth fully.

That’s when it finally hits me – that these feelings extend far beyond mere friendship. And my heart freezes in sudden fright, as I remember Sylaise’s warning. There’s no way June would accept that – there’s no way he would back down. Worse, there’s no way he would ever allow me to see him, my wolf, ever again.

I wonder if Sylaise knew – how much she had suspected.

Fortunately, no one else sees anything, as they still see him more as a wolf than a man, after years, ages, incapable of looking further, deeper than that. I bless their short-sightedness, while burying my feelings deep within me, trying to keep them at bay.

Thus, even though it’s June that courts me – it’s the wolf I fall for. It is inevitable, I suppose, and looking back - the signs of it were there even when he only had an animal form, and his saving my life only brought us closer.  

At times, I can’t help pondering on whether he could, possibly, care for me as well. I have no doubts regarding his friendship, he has proven himself through and through but… There are a few instances which make me consider that option, that there’s possibly more underneath it all.

The first one happens during our usual trek, as we are leisurely traipsing across the countryside. We are accosted by human bandits, a sorry bunch of growling, dirty barbarians clad in animal furs and armed in crude spears. I eye them critically, internally shocked by their primitiveness – just how far below the Elvhen do the current Shemlen stand? It is really a local equivalent of stone age for them?

They rumble something in their throaty dialect, pointing at us with their… weapons, I guess. Though that’s a generous expression, much more accurate would be – pointy stones attached to evened out sticks. I am, however, stunned, when Fen rumbles back, and easily hands over the remainder of our supplies.

I do not mind – they look downright starving, and we can easily hunt for more. However, any possibility of peaceful resolution is cut short when one of the smaller males waves in my direction, and says something more – and suddenly, in his place, stands a frozen figure. I did not even feel Fen manipulate his power, he had done it so fast. His companions take a frightful step back, looking about themselves with apparent fear, and for a moment, I hope that will be it.

My hopes are dashed, however, as instead of withdrawing, they charge at us. I can only observe, in shock and admiration, as Fen swiftly dispatches of them all – never before have I felt so utterly **useless**.

Not a movement is wasted, not a second unused, as he easily manipulates the Fade around him, calling onto his favourite ice to severe limbs, cut throats, and glaciate. The canyon is littered with ten quivering bodies, before they could reach even half-way to us.

It is only once I look over them once more, that I’m assaulted by the knowledge that these were once living, breathing beings – and I feel a wave of sudden nausea. Fen is, of course, unaffected – from his calm countenance, I can see it’s not a first encounter of this kind for him.

 _‘Savages.’_ he shakes his head in disgust.

There’s only so much that I can take, before my stomach finally gets the better of me, and I vomit on the side bush. I can feel worried eyes of Fen’s over me, but I wave him away.

It will pass.

I had, of course, known that this world is much more brutal than what I am accustomed to – but it was purely academic knowledge. In the pretty palace, I was protected, shielded from this as effectively and comprehensively as possible. Now, faced with the grim reality, I find it much more difficult to accept.

Looking at my shaking hand, I force myself to stand up, and glance in the direction of corpses once again. This is where I live in now, I remind myself forcefully. I’ll just have to deal with it. My pride will not allow for anything less.

 _‘What did he say for you to react like that?’_ I ask Fen, not really that interested, just wanting to take my mind off the carnage.

 _‘He wanted… Never mind. It matters nothing now.’_ He avoids my piercing gaze, mounting up on the back of halla.

His evasiveness is very telling in itself – I can extrapolate from the situation well enough. My pulse quickens, as I remember his fury. Does it…

I sigh heavily, berating myself for rising up my hopes. It doesn’t necessarily mean anything, silly girl, I tell myself firmly.

In the aftermath of the event, I demand of him to teach me how to fight. I do not want to feel endangered, nor afraid, and the only solution I see for that is to familiarize myself with the danger. Once I become more adept at reading the flow of the battle, and there won’t be any more surprises, I’ll stop being afraid of it. Theoretically.

I manage to conveniently forget that I’ll have to, personally, be able to take someone’s life during the skirmish. It is still too abstract for my mind to really comprehend, and I just don’t.

After a lot of convincing, finally, he acquiesces to my wishes. He is not happy with it, pointing out that in his company, I’ll never be in need of this particular skill – but I am adamant.

It takes a lot of us to find a style that would suit me. In the end, due to the restrictions my damaged sight brings, I cannot rely on my magic as much as he does, nor am I suitable for any heavy weaponry – obviously. The ranged combat is also out of question, since, as he tactfully puts, I cannot count on my targets being as simple-minded as animals, and truth to be told, I cannot wield a bow to save my life.

In fact, Fen develops something suitable solely for my use, purely offensive - taking advantage of my increased awareness of the surroundings, and uncommon speed, surpassing that of most other Elvhen. He claims that with my build, trying to parry any incoming strikes is plain suicide, so during my first trainings, we focus on dodging.

Once I got that down – he remains unconvinced that I’ll ever need anything more than that, - we incorporate fade step into my repertoire, a magical burst of speed resulting from manipulating the air around, taking one across a dozen or so meters in a matter of seconds. Then, he teaches me how to concentrate the power at the edge of my fingers, so that they're capable of cutting through anything, like the best of knives - and more flexible. This way, I can appear unarmed, all the while preparing for a suitable moment to strike - and I can never be  **disarmed**.

 _‘Impractical for most, but you can pull it off, Fean’Na’_ says Fen.

I glow at the praise, and catch a soft, endearing smile on his face before he schools it back to neutrality. 

We return from one of the sessions, grimy and dusty – or at least one of us is - when we encounter Andruil’s hunting party. Fen is his usual, impeccable self, even after hours under unforgiving sun, spent dodging my more or less successful attacks, while I feel terribly self-conscious of my disarrayed state.

Among them, Ghilan’Nain beams at the sight of me, and dismounts, stopping the procession from progressing.

In spite of her simple-mindedness, it is impossible to hate her, she is such a bundle of sunshine and sweetness. Of course, in large quantities, teeth start to ache – but from time to time it’s refreshing.

So I let her hug me exuberantly, before nodding to Andruil good naturedly. I can see irritation flash through her eyes at my familiarity with her favourite, and, coming from long practice, prepare myself for her acid.

 _‘Ah, **June’s** little Realm Traveller’_ she drawls out the words, underlining the implied, ‘not yours to touch’ in Fen’s direction, and I can sense his mood darkening. It makes my heart skip a beat, though I’m also not happy with the unwelcome reminder, as I steel myself for my turn. I do not have to wait long for a blow to come my way, as she continues, smiling snidely, _‘but you are not doing much of the said travelling lately, mm?’_

Ouch.

But I’m not one to take it without some retaliation of my own, so I smile genially, and reply, appearing unfazed,

 _‘My lady Andruil. We have just visited Rath,’_ and I’m not lying, not entirely, we have been there yesterday _‘and, can you imagine my astonishment, the locals have declared their intent to swear by Fen’Harel!’_

Rath used to be Andruil’s bastion, before, until a staunch following of hers from there was exiled, as the villagers celebrated our arrival. It is a blow to her power base – light, but irritating, if her expression is anything to come by.

 _‘Fean’Na’_ warns me Fen, with a slight growl. I obediently back down, knowing that pushing anymore is dangerous. Still, I feel a little apprehensive, as Anruil’s jabs are hitting it a little too close to home for my comfort. Especially her first one – I shudder at the thought of June getting winds of her suggestion.

We part soon enough, both parties glad to be spared from the company of another.

Fortunately, nothing sinister comes out of it, and I breathe a sigh of relief, as June seems his typical, self-assured self, while showing off some of his latest works. It’s dreadfully boring – Fen would have known better – but I catch onto the thought before it can develop itself. There’s no point in wishful thinking, as even if Fen held me in such regard, I would still be June’s. In fact, it would be better if he didn’t, I muse – less pain that way for everyone involved.

Not to mention, considering his lack of experience with emotions, I have doubts whether he is capable of differentiating  between love and affection. Not that long ago, he was merely a wolf, with wolf-like perception and worries – he says one day that taking on a form influences perception of such things, ever-so-slightly. I wonder why does he feel the need to explain it, as I hadn’t asked. Is he, perhaps, trying to excuse his earlier lack of empathy? I had never blamed him for that.

Ultimately, I let go of the issue, and allow myself to simply enjoy the happiness Fen’s easy companionship brings. I do not delve into my undefined, ambiguous wishes and desires, as I try to take the world around me one step at a time.

I can let go of my mask with him. My smiles are more genuine, my happiness more pronounced – merely being with him makes me laugh more, as he makes his witty, pointed remarks, or insightful observations. But it is more than that – he simply **is** and that is more than enough for me. I find again parts of me I had thought gone, lost in the darkness that threatened to swallow me. But they are still there, the playfulness, curiosity, inquisitiveness, artisticism – they were just buried underneath the hurt and pain.

It was pride that made me stand tall – but it is love that returns my wings to me. 


	8. Disloyal

**Disloyal Pride**

Finally comes the day when my castle of glass crumbles to dust.

No, let’s speak of the truth, and truth only – finally comes the day when **I** smash my paradise.

In hindsight, I’m surprised it took quite as long as it did. There were many little instances leading to this outcome, rumours accumulating, and our own, implicating, behaviours. The only thing preventing June from connecting the dots was his perception of Fen’Harel merely as a wolf – but that changes.

I change it.                                                                          

Through my own carelessness, forgetting myself.

For a moment, I allow myself to be too honestly, truly, happy – and to let that happiness show.

The night begins early, the grand ball on the eve of changing seasons, as the People celebrate the passage of the winter, and rebirth that spring brings. As June’s chosen, theoretically, it’s my obligation to take part in them, but I was exempted from the rule, as long as my injuries bothered me – and later as well, since I felt uncomfortable in large crowds.

In fact, it’s the first ball I’m attending ever since my rather profound lapse of judgement, which had led to my sorry state in the first place.

I must say, Mythal has been uncommonly obliging ever since the incident. Well, aside from her stalwart refusal to lift the geas, and subsequently not letting me return home, of course.

I was awaiting the evening with anticipation. I had gotten over most of my personal space related problems, and my love for the elegant Elvhen dances and melodious music is as strong as ever. Even the company – obligatory – of a decidedly sour June does nothing to dampen my high spirits.

I partner him to the waltz-like, formal opening of the celebration. I can clearly feel that June has asked me for it only because of propriety, it shows in his stiffness and jerking movements while leading. Still, in spite of his disinclination, he cannot help being naturally attuned to the rhythm, and I manage to enjoy myself, even faced with his scowl.

Once the last tones quieten, he promptly leads me off the dance floor, and towards our places at the head table. On arrival, he immediately lapses into a convoluted dispute with Hanninan, Sylaise’s chosen, regarding Thedasian equivalent of quantum mechanics; as far as I gathered – which is just as much beyond me, as the Earthen one was. I am bored out of my mind; and soon, allow myself to be swept away, and onto the dancefloor, by Dirthamen, which June acknowledges with impatient wave, barely aware what is happening.

Dirthamen and Falon’Din make a game of passing me between them for the first couple of dances, and I laugh out loud, once I realize I’ve become an instrument in their subtle flirting with one another. I do not mind, and once they finally drop the pretence, and latch onto one another, I graciously back away, no hard feelings.

I lose track of my partners afterwards, until I’m in need of a break, and stop by Ghilan’Nain, surrounded by fawning courtiers, to swallow a few mouthfuls of wine. She is, as usual, absurdly delighted by my presence, and drags me into the gossiping circle, where I remain mostly quiet, listening in, and catching my breath. They’re not the sharpest tools in the shed, but they are surprisingly observant.

I begin construing a believable excuse to get away, when suddenly, I feel a brush of familiar aura, and an extended hand saves me from the unwanted company.

Fen.

He is groomed and dressed for the occasion, as usual, immaculately suitable. He takes my breath away, and from the mischievous smirk, he is at least partially aware of the effect he has on me.

I didn’t even know he could dance.

But he does, and does it brilliantly.

My heart sings with joy. This is his expression of love towards me, even if he might not realize it entirely – although, I think he does. He has learnt how to dance because it pleases me, because this is something I enjoy, so he has taught himself to enjoy it as well  – just like I listened to his countless stories and academic diatribes with enjoyment, because it was his delight.

My courtly mask cracks, but I’m heedless of that, elated, as he twirls by my side on the floor. Because it is him, and he holds me close – closer than I allowed anyone else, but it’s Fen, and so it is fine, not a breach, not an imposition, not an intrusion. I’m flushed from the heat, and from the dance, and from the tension, crackling between us, and I smile, fully, radiantly, dazzlingly.  

At the end, he bows, with flourish and grace and slight embellishment, and I cannot help laughing, charmed. Enamoured.

He takes me by the arm, and starts leading to the balcony, suggesting a whiff of fresh air, when I catch a glimpse of Sylaise, who, very deliberately, indicates in the direction of central table.

I turn my head, and my heart stills from abrupt fear.

June mindlessly pokes at something on his plate, but it is the aloof coldness on his features terrifies me. He looks downright murderous, and it gripes something within me.

My jubilant mood evaporates on the spot, as the countless scenarios run through my head, each one worse than the previous.  

Sensing my apparent distress, Fen follows my gaze, and his lips purse into a thin line, just as his grip on my arm tightens.

And suddenly, I know that I had misjudged, misjudged him and his awareness of the situation, that he was ahead of me, always one step ahead. That he knew perfectly well what was happening between us, and he encouraged and welcomed the blooming love.

Yet instead of it delighting me, making me happy because of my returned affections, I’m even more afraid than before. Than **ever** before. Because wolf, with his gentle nature, does not, cannot, comprehend, not fully, how selfish and self-centred June can be. Is.

I realize with a startling certainty, that they will fight over me. They will fight, and… I swallow a wave of nausea at the thought… Fen will lose. My wolf will lose, and will be hurt, and will suffer. Possibly… And I close my eyes, but continue the thought, too proud to hide from the truth, even unwelcome one… Possibly, he will die.

There’s no other plausible outcome, no chance of him emerging victorious – June is so much more more popular, and Fen is newer, barely introduced, into his growing power. He is outmatched and outclassed, in almost every aspect.

I remember vividly the last instance of the gods fighting against each other. Andruil against Falon’Din, and the only thing that kept the latter in existence was the interference of Dirthamen. An event which resulted in their union, so terrified by the incident was the god of Secrets – terrified of losing his brother and lover.

I do not know whether the Evanuris can die, not in the common sense of the word – but Dirthamen’s fear is enough to convince me the danger is real. The spirits, though, certainly can be destroyed, and if their true natures originate, are somehow similar, to spiritual, as Fen claimed, then… 

I cannot bear the thought of losing him.

There’s only one way out, one which will stop this conflict before it begins. Even if it will cost me everything else that I hold dear, even if I will grow to detest myself for doing it, I refuse to lose him. My bright light in the void.  

In spite of everything in me rebelling against the action, I extricate myself from Fen’s hands and steel myself internally.

It will have to be a perfect performance. This June is much changed, much more experienced, and very much harder to fool. 

I glide graciously towards the source of my anxiety, putting a light skip to my steps, suggesting the peace of mind which I do not feel. I stop just short of his chair, and slide down on mine, picking up my glass. I taste the rich wine, sighing contentedly – an easy ruse to get his attention, which succeeds, of course. I know him quite well, after all.

 _‘Did you see me dance, June?’_ I ask sweetly, angling towards him, pretending not to notice his dark mood.

 _‘I saw you. With the **wolf** ’_ he punctuates, and internally, I cringe at the deadly intent, barely contained in these words.

 _‘You did?’_ Of course he did. But there’s a game, and there are rules by which its played, and so I fake delighted surprise, which further distracts him away from Fen, and from his jealousy. ‘ _And here I thought you were too engrossed in your discourse to pay any attention to me’_ slips away from me easily, naturally, as I take another sip of red wine.

His eyes widen at the implications of my words, and I feel his mood brightening. But the suspicion is still there, plainly expressed by the shadow in his eyes, and I sigh mentally. I didn’t think deceiving him would be this easy, but… I could always hope.

I down the remainder of the wine, and reach out for more, but he catches my hand, and says, with a dangerous edge to his smile,

_‘I think you have had enough for tonight.’_

 Oh no, I didn’t have nearly enough for what is about to happen.

 Yet I allow him to take my hand, agreeably, and lie down my head against his shoulder.

 _‘You might be right about that’_ I breathe against his ear, seductively. His breath hitches at that, and he turns to face me. I observe him carefully from the lowered lashes, shaking my head lightly as if his movement had unsettled me, and see the lust shimmering in his eyes, replacing the darkness. It is a hollow victory, but a victory nonetheless, I tell myself firmly, squashing down the feeling of dread.

I had decided on this.  

 _‘I think it’s high time for me to depart – I find these sorts of affairs tiresome. Do you wish to stay for a while longer, or…’_ the propositional undertone hardly needs to be spelled out more plainly, as he looks at me with expectancy.  

It’s a dare, a challenge and a test. He is a prodigy, after all, and he is done playing around.

Leisurely, I gather the folds of my dress, replying,

 _‘I believe I’ve danced plenty’_ accepting the hand, outstretched in my direction, pulling me up.

He leads me across the ballroom, expertly manoeuvring through the crowd and to the doorway. Just before we leave, I catch Fen’s eyes, watching me, us, with tension, plainly expressed by his rigid posture. We stare at each other for what seems like forever – when in reality, it’s close to no time – before he glances away, and, deliberately, turns his back on me. I inhale sharply, but a decisive tug of June’s reminds me of the reality, and I allow myself to be pulled out of the room.

Being with June is… hard. An everyday chore, as I put on a brave face, and smile, and laugh, when everything within me screams. Screams and shouts and wails and claws at myself, and yet, outwardly, I remain unaffected. When he whispers sweet nothings, while holding me tightly against him, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes, because my wolf would have known they are unnecessary, that I find them hollow, meaningless, empty. When he touches me, reverently, and I wish his hands were less sturdy, less bulky, more sculptured – belonging to another. When he makes love to me, proficiently, and I pretend he is not, that he is uncertain, that he is the wolf who had hesitated to even touch me, unsure how, and unsure of the welcome.

It’s mask that can never falter, that I can’t **afford** to falter – and it’s just so damn exhausting, and painful.

And then, there’s Fen – and seeing him makes it all so much worse, so much more wretched.

He is just as lost in this as I am, maybe even more? He doesn’t know how to deal with this new pain – had he ever experienced anything remotely similar, before? Had he ever felt the sting betrayal brings, or the grief of a heartbreak?

I do not relish the thought I’m the one to teach him that, as he watches me with his hurtful look – and it carves new wounds into my ruined self.

My heart goes out to him, when I see his eyes, widened, clouded, bewildered. He seems to be asking, why have you done that, even though he knows, knows that there was no solution, no other way, he still asks. Unable to help himself, unable to comprehend, unable to stop, even though thinking on it only makes it worse, only makes it all the more unbearable. All his wisdom, calm, gone, as he tries to deal with the unexpected blow from the one person he had trusted with, gifted, his heart. His precious, generous, tender heart, which I cherished, adored, revered. 

Shattered, by my own hand.

The situation takes my suffering to new, almost impossible to bear, levels. My heart bleeds, bleeds for both of us – me, so desolate, so miserable without him, and Fen, betrayed, abandoned.

Finally, he cannot stand it anymore, so he ambushes me alone, as I look down on the Arlathan from the heights of one of the palace towers. I have expected that, and so, provided him with the opportunity, alone, and away from curious onlookers.

He deserves the closure. No, he deserves so much more, he deserves my devotion and loyalty and love, but closure is all I can give.    

 _‘Why?’_ his voice quivers from emotion, as he leans against the balcony’s balustrade, grasping onto it tightly. Even in the uneven light of the sunset, I can easily see he is shaken, and hurt… so hurt.

Oh, my wolf. I am so sorry. I had never intended on how it turned out.

I do not attempt to squirm away from the question, it would be a disservice, and an insult, to the intelligence of us both.

 _‘Do you even have to ask?’_ I reply after long silence. ‘ _Ma’Fen…’_ I halt, silently cursing myself for the unintended slip. Calling him as I did, my wolf, betrays my longing, my feelings, which I had intended on hiding, burying, deep inside. It would have been easier to have him hate me.

Alas, I had closed off that venue, accidentally, so instead, I decide to be honest with him, the way I was not, for a long time.

_‘I could not lose you.’_

For a moment, he seems confused, before unwanted understanding flashes in his eyes, even as he shakes his head in denial.

_‘I could have…’_

But I cut him off, stepping closer and putting a finger on his mouth, and he stops speaking, confounded. I place a soft kiss on my finger against his lips – just a touch, a breath away, but it makes all the difference in the world.

He is perceptive enough to understand what I meant without any more painful, unnecessary words and what-ifs.

Farewell.

We grow apart, the wolf and I. His aloofness with me is understandable, perfectly, even if I wish it weren’t so. It’s a gradual process, as cutting it off so abruptly would have gotten people curious. Even June remarks on it, and I respond quizzically - that we had a disagreement. Let him make of that what he will. He does, quite astutely, assume it must have something to do with my acceptance of his advances, and drops it, surprising me with his tact.

I do not even have to lie.

In my despair, and loneliness, I reach out to Sylaise.

The first time it happens is right after I had that terrible, heart wrenching conversation with my wolf. I make my way to her chambers, and collapse on her bed, blinded by unruly tears, which refuse to stop, in spite of my best efforts. Without any question, she consoles me, playing with my hair and humming a soft tune and holding me close. She sends away June’s messengers with one excuse or another, I do not care.

She is accommodating, and understanding towards my suffering – even if neither one of us dares to call it by its name. While she does not like what I’m doing to her brother – cheating, lying, pretending and the deception - she accepts the necessity of it – even as she berates me for my carelessness, which has led to this situation. Yet, at the end of her venting, she admits reluctantly that it would have come down to it at some point in time, as both of us shudder at the alternative. No matter the outcome, the possible clash between June and Fen’Harel is not something to contemplate calmly.

Even though there’s no uncertainty regarding the said, final, outcome.

For a while, everything calms, and I find a certain… contentment, in routine. The mask I wear becomes more natural than breathing, as I wake by June’s side, each day greeted by his sunny, joyful smile, and respond in kind – almost.

It is a measure of his blindness towards me, a measure of how far love can push people, that he does not see through it. On some level, he must be aware that my feelings towards him do not compare, do not even come close, as, no matter the circumstances, I cannot bring myself to lie to him. Yet he does not ask the right questions – sensing that he would not like the answer.

So I do not feed him with any false reassurances, nor any false words of devotion. I praise him only for the things I truly admire, and I do not seek him out on purpose, any more than I did before. I allow him to wilfully misconstrue my ambiguous words and actions, and go along with his desires, whenever he demands anything of me – but not a step further than that. The one lie, implied, during that terrible, disastrous, night, is more than enough, I feel guilty about it enough.

The idea of cheating on June crosses my mind, once or twice. Born from longing, and lust, and my heart’s desire being so close, within my hand’s reach, and yet so far, so distantly away.

I’m certain I could convince Fen to go along with it. I can see it in the way he watches me, trying to be covert in his yearning after me, but I’m so attuned to him, I never fail to notice – and my heart flutters in response, and I have to fight down the blush, and heat.

But it’s a momentary fallacy, passing as quickly as it occurs to me – leaving only pain behind.

My pride would never allow it to happen. It would be dishonourable, beneath me, disrespectful of all of us – defiling June’s love, its purity, which merits my faithfulness, degrading Fen, because he deserves more than a temporary arrangement, and debasing me to merely my sensuality.

I refuse to degrade the sacrifice of my heart to merely **whoring** myself.

And then comes a day when I seek Sylaise’s asylum for the second time – the day when Fen comes with a woman by his side. A woman who is not **me.**

It would be unreasonable of me to expect anything else, of course, as I had intended to let him go. But it hurts, hurts so much to watch it actually happen! A thousand knives striking into my heart, and I weep, weep with the agony and desolation of my broken heart. A howl of a mortally wounded animal, a cry for help, a lament over my bleeding soul.

I had brought it on myself.

I watch the one by his side, and loath, resent, hate, her. I am keenly aware – it used to be my place, and his smile, and kind touches, were mine alone.

It is all the more annoying that she does not, even vaguely, resemble me – neither in looks nor in character. Where I’m lean and almost boyish, she is more plump, with a full figure. Where my hair shimmer with silver, hers are of a dark, rich brown. Her nature is boisterous, and open, and honest – I would call her my exact opposite, if it were not an understatement.

And the awareness that she is, in fact, sharing more with him, than I ever did, is all the more frustrating. We had one, not-quite kiss between us, before I broke it off, before it even began. She has all that, and more.

With a strength and determination born from desperation, I gnaw at the seams of my geas yet again. And, after a while, I can feel it weakening, stretching, slipping. Letting me go, ever so slightly.

I know it is not a permanent solution. A momentary escape, at the very best.

But being here is just too fucking hard, and exhausting.


	9. Departing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ASSUMPTIONS:  
> 1\. Thedas is the sole continent, a whole world of DA.  
> 2\. Original Inquisition timeline is around 8 years, and not 2 years, like it is according to Wiki.

**Departing**

At the exact moment I pull myself back to Earth, I know I have rushed, overreached myself. My impatience – my suffering – made me sloppy, too eager to be gone. Even as my eyes open, I can feel the geas’ hold tightening over me. Every movement feels like a stretch, every breath burns, as I try to hold onto the fading consciousness, fight the pull that tries to snatch me away, again.

Thinking, reasoning, also comes to me incredibly hard – my mind is clouded, fogged. My perception jarred. But still, I am able to, slowly, absorb what’s happening around me.  

The rush of the people in white is not a surprise – I had somewhat expected it. And the tests, measurements, recording of the data – and then, whispers, awed and shocked and disbelieving.

Once  again, the physicians have no answers.

They call my parents, and reassure me that they will arrive shortly. I nod weakly to that, afraid to speak – as I am not certain of my English, not anymore. My tongue is heavy, wooden in my mouth, and at first, refuses to cooperate.

I look up the ceiling, while waiting, and realize that I have never considered it before, but the hospital lights have annoying artificiality to them. The blinding quality to the pure white, which makes it all the harder to adjust. Yet, even as I am surrounded by the putrid smells of the disinfectants, and grating noises of mechanisms and people and clunky medical apparatus being thrown, beeping, or dripping, I feel relief. For a short while, I can go on without my usual mask.

Of course, I’m forced to don another one soon enough, as I’m asked, yet again, the same questions over and over, for which I can provide no answer.

Hours pass, as I attempt to regain semblance of control over my body - and again, I hear it repeated, this time, from my mother.

‘What happened?’ Her voice is hushed, cracking, and she barely controls herself, just short of crying.

What a loaded question. I consider it carefully, taking in the tension on her face, the deeply etched stress lines and dark rings around her eyes. I notice a scrap of paper, crumpled, clutched in her hand – and suddenly remember the spiteful note I left her, all those years ago. But the worst of all are her eyes – shadowed, haunted, and suddenly, I feel a wave of nauseating guilt.

I’ve been inconsiderate, and cruel.

‘I do not think you should take me out of the hospital just yet’ I answer instead, in avoidance, and referring to the queries I overheard her asking before she came in. My mother pales, and recoils.

‘What do you mean?!’

I just smile sadly, and attempt to raise my hand towards her – at which I fail. She observes my effort with furrowed brow, before calling in, with despair,

‘Sir! What’s wrong with my daughter?!’ I blanch at the shrill of panic in her voice.

‘Physically, she is perfectly fine’ reassures her the man in a coat, with a specialist’s tag hanging by the neck. ‘There’s a certain, unexplained strain on the nervous system, but it’s nothing to be concerned about.’

‘Then why does she behave as if she could fall asleep again any minute?’

‘It must be disorientation speaking, or nerves’ he smiles patronisingly in my direction, and I fight the urge to sneer. ‘She has just wakened, everything must be very confusing for her.’

Just like you could not, possibly, ever, explain my sickness in the first place, and now you believe you can reliably judge my condition? The arrogance, the gall of this person makes me nearly go spare. Instead, I just drill into him with plainly disdainful gaze, until he shifts his weight uncertainly, and turns away, unable to hold it any longer. Under my weighty gaze, he scrambles out of the room, with haste.

I do not hold back my snort, after the doors close – but it comes out as soft as taking a whiff of air, instead. My time is slipping – not even ten hours, and I know I won’t be able to remain for much longer.

‘I think you should let go of the specialists’ I make a weak wave towards the corridor. ‘They are of little help, and will be even less.’

I can feel she wants to protest, but instead, she clasps onto my hand, and whispers,

‘Honey, I am. So sorry. So very, very sorry. I should have listened…’

Yes. You should have. But I’ve gotten over my anger, and her betrayal, years ago, had not thought on it for a long time.

‘It’s okay, mum’ I reply softy. ‘Just… don’t take it too hard. I promise, I will be back, soon, and then I’ll explain everything.’

Or most. Or some. Or… just a tiny bit. But that’s not what she needs to hear, my mother requires reassurance, so that’s what I give her.

‘Do you swear that? That you’ll wake up, again?’ This time, she does not stop the flowing tears, as I nod, and she hugs me, closely.

Shocked, I realize, as the moist gathers in my eyes – I had missed her. I longed for such unassuming, unobtrusive, undemanding acceptance and support I used to have from my family – once. I missed having them, as my friends in Thedas – Sylaise, and the scatter-brain ‘Nain, are not the same, not quite the same.

Fen used to be like that, used to give me that comfort, before…

And now, with my wolf gone – I miss them even more.

‘Then I’ll wait. I’ll wait, and I promise, this time – I’ll listen.’

I smile at her warmly, and, as her hands delicately caress my cheek, I let go, and fall.

Fall and fall, deep into the darkness, pulled by a golden thread, which wounds around me, tighter and tighter and more complete, until I am lost in a burst of light and golden web around me.

I gasp, and jolt upwards, as if awakened from the nightmare. I can feel the geas, and its golden web, settling, securing itself against my soul, and sigh with dejection. As I initially suspected, each time I return, I’ll have to work on the binds a new.

I’m surprised I was capable of actually seeing the process of geas latching onto me anew – with my damaged eyes – but then again, there’s nothing inhibiting my soul, it is only the physical vessel which was affected by my actions. In the spiritual sense, I’m as I ever was.

Unfortunately, the revelation does not translate into any practical advantages – as once I’m separated from my body, there’s nothing else I would like to do with my magic.

Mythal literally radiates with satisfaction at my prompt return, and June is patently grateful for his mother’s apt solution. They believe me subdued, tamed by my failure – when it’s the exact opposite. I’m brimming with enthusiasm, to try again – because I know for certain now, it can be done. The restraint can be... stretched. I had merely rushed, eager to go home, but next time – next time, I’ll surely succeed.

Though he is satisfied by the geas’ efficacy, June is, nonetheless, angry with me, for even **attempting** it in the first place. He feels hurt, and demands to know my reasons for trying to run away from him, again. Am I not happy with him?

At first, I elect to simply ignore him. Once he becomes more pesky and stubborn about it, I begin to lose my patience – until finally, he crosses the line, and I blow up.

_‘Not everything is about you! Have you considered, ever, that what you’ve done cut me off from my family, people closest to me? That possibly, I could miss them, want to see them again? Try to see something beyond the inch of your own nose, for once!’_

That shuts him up for a while, and he fumes in silence. I use the opportunity our distance provides to move back into my own rooms, and away from him.

I was looking for a chance like that for a while, truthfully. It has been becoming increasingly hard to keep up the mask around him, at all times – especially during our lovemaking. I am constantly under pressure, afraid that I’ll slip, and speak the wrong name, the name of the one I imagine in his place, whenever he touches me.

Of course, that does nothing towards appeasing June’s blazing fury with me, if anything, I only add fuel to the fire. As does my irritated comment, once, a bit too honest for my own good, but fortunately for me, his rage burns too brightly for logic:

_‘If you are this insatiable, you ought to take another lover to satisfy your needs, and leave me alone for a while!’_

At first, he is merely affronted by my rejection of his advances – but soon, once he realizes I was entirely serious with my suggestion, he leaves with a slam of a door behind him, and I can finally relax – as well as berate myself for the blunder. Had he been any less irritated, he would have noticed the blatant inconsistency of my behaviour. But I’m not too harsh with myself – I’ve been so tired, as of late, so emotionally wrecked it’s a miracle I’ve only ever said this much.

Watching Fen with **that** woman has been a trial. No, far more than that – it has been excruciating. Even though June’s suspicions has been laid to rest, I cannot do anything that would arouse them again, and that means keeping straight face at all times. Even when my soul bleeds. Even when my heart weeps, weeps with bloody tears. Even when I want to claw my eyes out, maim them again, so I do not see, cannot see, them, together.

To spite me, June actually follows my suggestion, and takes on another woman to his bed. If he expected any jealousy on part, he is sorely disappointed, but of course, admitting so would be beneath him, and so, he persists, changing partners like others change shoes, often, and based on negligible pretexts.

Truthfully, the women by his side never fail to amuse me. They strut about like proud peacocks after gaining his favour, and invariably – I refuse to dwell on how creepy that is – share a characteristic trait with me. One has eyes of similar colour and shape, the other – silvery hair, another the gait of a dancer, and so it goes, on and on. And just as invariably, their pride is their downfall, unearned and undeserved as it is, when they say a careless word, or dare to presume they mean more than they do – and one by one, they get cut off, because, in the end, they are not **me**.

Not that I am quite so vain to believe myself a wonder of nature above reproach. When one is faced with Ghilan’Nain on a daily basis, such delusions quickly disappear – for she is a walking perfection, making both males and females swoon – aside from her inelegant clumsiness, the one thing I can hold over her. I, and many others.

But it does feed my ego, ever so slightly, that even in his anger, he tries to find me, a shadow of me, in others. How could it not? Here they are, the beautiful, accomplished – better? than me – women and yet I know, that with a single gesture, each and every one of them would be discarded, abandoned, for a second of my time. It is very flattering.

I could have loved June, I realize then. Had things played out differently, I would have learned to love him, most likely. Had it not been for my imprisonment…

…and had it not been for the wolf.

With the distance between us, I can finally allow myself to relax, partially – and that state persists for a few blessed months, turning into years, when I painstakingly disentangle the threads of geas, and June chases skirts in his misguided attempt to get to me.

I’m left to my peace and harmless enjoyments and schemes, until June gets over his wounded feelings – or maybe he doesn’t, but he definitely cares for me too much, misses me too much – and decides to try and win back my favour.

He does it with his past, tried method, showering me with his gifts and promises and affection and attention. This sudden shift, sudden intrusion into my life, nearly overwhelms me, at first. I do not appreciate him upsetting my routine.

I consider actually rejecting him, right then and there, ending it, just like that. But the strange, frenzied glint in his eyes warns me against that action. June is not ready, far from ready, to let me go, and until I’m prepared, entirely, to go with my not yet entirely defined – aside from going home part – plan, I would rather not risk it.

And so, I accept him – provisionally. I restrict our contacts to those of my choice and timing, and he still keeps his lovers, to assist him with his more… carnal desires. I still allow him into my bed, once in a while, when I see him close to the breaking point, close to falling apart, but these occasions are few, and far between.

Nonetheless, he is overjoyed, even by this little, and he offers to share his powers with me, a proof of his love. I’m astonished, stunned really by his offer, and at first, merely gape at him, silenced by the shock.

The possibilities it would open are… Well, I can hardly imagine them all, but first what comes to my mind is that I could, actually, possibly, break apart the geas. And if not, at least I wouldn’t be as dependent on others as I am now. The courtly duties would be a hassle, to a degree, but if ‘Nain can manage them, then surely, I can as well?

It’s tempting. Very tempting.

I am actually, seriously, considering taking him up on it, when I see Sylaise, the serene, unflappable Sylaise in tears, and I can hardly help rushing to her side.

 _‘Sylaise, my sweet Sylaise, what happened?’_ I implore, petting her head in an attempt to calm her down. It proves futile, counterproductive, as her sorrowful sobs only intensify. I cast a look about, and with a frantic gesture, wave people away. I can imagine her dismay, once she calms down, at making a spectacle of herself so publicly, and so I coax her back into the privacy of her rooms. She collapses on the fluff bedding, still weeping, as I chase out the maids, and close the door behind them.

I walk across the room, and sit beside her on the four-poster bed, cradling her in my arms, and slowly, word by word, get out the story out of her. As they flow, she calms down, with each one regaining more of herself, until nothing but reddened eyes and random sniffles remain of her former despair.

She fought with Hanninan, over what June had proposed to me – and she did not, to Hanninan. I raise my eyebrows in disbelief at that, and walk over to the window to fix the flower arrangement there, before confirming with her,

_‘You had not shared your powers with him in order to **protect** him?’_

_‘Yes, of course. Do you think I would have not loved to make him ascend?’_ she is clearly indignant at the insinuation. _‘But I do not have the same sway, the same power as my sister does – had I done that, I would have only painted a target on his back. Andruil can, and does, fight to protect Ghilan’Nain with all of her considerable might – that’s what gotten Falon’Din nearly killed.’_ Sylaise goes a bit off topic, expanding on that with some meaningless details, before snapping back to attention, and returning to our original conversation.

 _‘This way, people believe him less important to me than the reality, and as he has nothing they might want, he remains safely ignored - all the while I can slowly gather more strength that would, one day, allow me to do so safely.’_ She turns away, and looks distractedly into space, and I have a feeling she is not with me at the moment, lost in her thoughts.

 _‘And had you told him that?’_ I inquire innocently, taking a step back, and admiring my handiwork. The flowers look way better than they did before, tussled by the wind.

‘ _I thought it obvious! Why else would I have refrained?_ ’

I roll my eyes, while taking the vase and setting it on a table, to protect the blossoms from falling into disarray again, should the window be opened.

 _‘And yet, you have indicated the alternative interpretation, the one swirling within the court, yourself.’_ I point out delicately. _‘Did you consider that Hanninan is, first and foremost, a researcher, and such intricacies might easily escape him?_ ’ That has her frowning thoughtfully, as I continue, _‘Now, that June had, at a whim, decided to offer me as well, Hanninan feels… inadequate, at a guess.’_ I pause to take a breath, before urging her, ‘ _Talk to him. Explain, what you’ve just told me.’_

Sylaise still looks close to crying, not nearly as convinced as I would like, so I add in reassurance,

_‘It will be fine.’_

Sighing, she finally nods her assessment, before unexpectedly turning the conversation onto me.

_‘You should not underestimate my brother, even if you have managed to fool him thus far. He is shrewd, and a genius, without a doubt.’_

I stiffen at the ambiguous warning, before prompting her,

‘ _What do you mean?’_

_‘Should you accept, you will be forever bound to Thedas, by June’s magic. It is deeply rooted in the followers he has, and by his very nature, as commanded by the Creators. More than any geas, anything really, it will stop you.’_

I feel sick at how close I came to walking into this new, elaborate, trap. I shudder, swallowing the lump in my throat, and ask,

_‘Why didn’t he try it before?’_

Sylaise shrugs neutrally.

_‘Because you have to **voluntarily** accept. There’s no way to enforce it, as far as I know, it is impossible. If he had tried, and you had rejected the power in the midst of the process, he would have lost half of himself, gaining nothing.’_

A logical reason not to, I guess.

I walk out of her rooms, lost in thought.

Sylaise makes up with Hanninan – if anything, they’re closer than ever before. As for me, I reject June’s proposal, carefully using some of Sylaise’s arguments – the ones regarding danger, of course, not the ones pertaining to my captivity - as well as my personal distaste of courtly affairs, as the reasoning. He looks honestly dejected, and as I look at him, a sudden idea flashes through my mind, and I grab it by its tail.

_‘But there’s something else you could do for me…’_

He perks up at the prospect of fulfilling my wish, finally, I’m asking something of him. I explain my concept of creating something that would help, assist in amplifying one’s magic, all the while gathering some from the Fade naturally, a reserve, of sorts, – an artefact which would, in practice, have a very similar effect to him sharing his powers with me, while having none of the disadvantages.

His eyes sparkle from excitement at the challenge, and for a long time, I am left in peace, so engrossed he becomes with his project. I use the period of calm to further work on geas.

He calls the small orb he created a foci. A lens, a magnifier, a storage, a power magnet – it is all that, and more. I touch it, and have to stop myself from rolling my eyes – of course, he got it right the first time. It fits me, and my magic, flawlessly.

Fucking prodigy.

But, as I have no need of it, nor had I intended it for myself in the first place, I push my power into his creation, push everything of me – until it overloads, and breaks apart right in front of June’s eyes. He swears, looking at the destroyed object, and promises me he will do better, next time.

Of course, it is impossible – as he had managed to do it perfectly with his first try, all his following attempts are just a tiny bit off – some more than a little. He brings me one after another, but never again do I have to actually exercise much of myself to prove they are not what he’s looking for – just a touch, and they fail, break apart under my efforts.

Until finally, he brings me one that feels familiar – feels right. He raises his eyebrow in disbelief, as I praise his effort, certain that this one would also get rejected - but truthfully, I’m astounded. There’s no limit to his capabilities, it seems – even without knowing what I want, he had managed to meet my vague expectations.

I brush my fingers over the orb, prodding it delicately with my magic – yes, this is it. It will suit Fen.

To distract June from his misgivings, before he becomes any more suspicious, I place a soft kiss of gratitude against his lips, and, taking his hand, lead him to my rooms.

Let’s just say he is thoroughly distracted, and the topic does not come up again.  

Time is fleeting for Elvhen, and one day, I realize that I’ve no idea how many years I’ve been here, this time. Thirty? Fifty? Maybe sixty? I’m almost certain it had not been, in fact, a century, but… Still, I feel wearied, down to my bones. Lonely, as well.

And I have a promise to fulfil.

Once I’m finished with geas, I gather my courage, and step into the workshop, not wanting to leave any threads unresolved, any loose ends hanging. The god is busy, carving a rune onto a piece of metal, but at the sight of me, he pauses for a moment to flash me with a wide smile, before resuming.

 _‘June I…_ ’ I swallow, trying to make sense of my disjointed reflections, reach him, convey my meaning properly. It is hard, as my nerves get the better of me, and my heart erratic beating throws me off my line of thought. Finally, unable to come up with any way to soften the blow, I reach to my pride, and stop stuttering, unnecessarily beating around the bush.

_‘I want to stop being your favourite.’_

Well, it certainly gets his attention, as he immediately abandons his task – whatever it is – and tools crash in his wake, as he runs to my side, grabbing me by the arms.

 _‘Why would you say so?’_ panic creeps into his words. _‘Is it Ariane? You know one word from you and she will be gone.’_

 _‘What… who?’_ I feel a bit disoriented at first, dazed from his outburst, until I remember.

Ariane is the most recent of his long procession of lovers, and truthfully, she has been somewhat of a bother as of late. I attribute that at least partially to my discomfort in her presence, as it is undoubtedly disturbing, looking at one who tries her very best to become, well, **me.** She has also been successful enough to hold a record over the length of time by June’s side – and she’s gotten a bit mouthy, as well.

 _That’s not it, June’_ I deny, sighing. ‘ _I’m just… tired.’_

It is pure, undiluted truth, and he can hear the honesty ringing in my voice. With a snarl, he crosses his arms, and turns his back on me, before stating frostily,

_‘We’ll talk about it later.’_

I sigh again, but one glance at his stiff posture, and I give up.

Instead, I write him a letter.

 _‘Dear June,_ ’ it begins. _‘We have grown apart,’_ due to my very best efforts, _‘and I’ve been missing my family badly. I am going to return home, and don’t know how long I’ll remain – possibly, forever, as I have no plans of returning to Thedas.’_ It is a stretch – while I’ve certainly no **plans,** I know it to be inevitable. But in this case, being too accurate would only work against me. _‘I wish you, and Ariane, the very best. Hopefully, you will find it in yourself to treat her with more sincerity, once I’m gone.’_ I do not care about that one whit, actually, but perhaps, she will help him in getting over my absence. _‘Stay well. Fean’Na.’_ No reassurances of my love, or anything along the lines.

I’m not all that happy with it, alas, it will have to suffice. I fold it meticulously, and leave it by my bedside – June will undoubtedly notice it, once he returns to check on me, and finds my soul gone.

There’s one last thing I want to do, before going back. I make my way towards Fen’s rooms, and stand in front of the door leading to his study for a good while, gathering my courage. We have not spoken to one another ever since… ever since that evening. I knock, and at his permission, enter.

 _'What is it?’_ he asks, rising his head from the papers. His eyes widen at the sight of me, and there’s a moment of tense, uncomfortable silence between the two of us. Wordlessly, I walk towards his desk, placing a foci on it, before turning to look him in the eyes, and saying,

 _‘A gift. My gratitude.’_ I do not elaborate what I’m grateful for, and Fen doesn’t ask. After another moment of profound silence, I add, _‘June made it.’_ Unspoken, yet understood, remains – he didn’t know it was for you. Be careful while using it, or we’ll both pay for it dearly. Stay well.

And, of course, the last part, which I do not know if he could read from my eyes, or from the slight tremble of my lips, the most important, yet the least conveyed.

I love you. 


	10. Following Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ASSUMPTIONS:  
> 1\. Thedas is the sole continent, a whole world of DA.  
> 2\. Original Inquisition timeline is around 8 years, and not 2 years, like it is according to Wiki.

****Following **Pride**** **

Strangely, I do not wake up to the artificial surroundings of the medical institution, as I thought, but in the sun porch. I'm surrounded by flowers and a cascade of light, slightly broken up, passing through the pastel screens. In spite of the drip by my bedside, and the controlling devices in the corner, the room looks homey and cosy.

I feel so serene and peaceful, I nearly burst out crying. It is a relief, overwhelming relief, and the tranquillity I’ve not felt for the longest time.

I find out from my brother that my mother has listened to me – and taken me off the hands of the physicians. It was her right, as my guardian, to personally provide me with the care she thought was best, and so, I got this little paradise-like room, and a personal nurse, which took care of me during my absence.

They also moved away from town, and to the countryside. Better air for my convalescence, or something.  

At first, I feel uneasy with the financial strain it must have put on them, until Mic informs me conspiratorially that they had sold my flat in order to do so, and had gotten themselves a golden deal. I believe him, one look at the mischievous glint in his eyes and I know he is speaking the truth, and not merely platitudes to reassure me.

My parents let me readjust, slowly, and with unusual tact, do not press me for answers immediately on my awakening. I go through a therapy, strengthening my muscles, in order not to cause myself any injury. I read through a couple of books, relearning English, rusty, from the lack of usage.

Mic laughs at me, and says I speak funny. I cannot argue with that, as the strangely melodious tone is stuck to my throat, and I am unable to rid of it, after such a long time of speaking Elvhen. Though I have to agree with him it sounds funny, distorted by my untrained chords, unaccustomed to the pressure I’m putting on them.

I start asking questions, and find out it has been merely a month.

Another month, I remind myself. I’ve slept through another month, aside from the short wakeup during the second week. I stop attempting to comprehend the tricks of the timeline – I know I had spent nearly eighty years, in Thedas, this time, although the exact number is slippery. The Elvhen do not care for that much, and neither did I, too lost in my troubles to care.

What matters, however, is that I could pick up my studies, again, should I wish so.

I could try and pretend, and go back to the University again – I’ve not missed that much out of the semester, as it turns out, and my professors are very understanding. But deep down, I know it for a pointless, meaningless effort – there’s too much of Thedasian in me, and not enough of an Earthling. I would have to read everything over, again, and for what? I’ll be forced back, and I’ll just forget, again.

So I stop exercising in futility, and withdraw, instead. My parents, blessedly, keep their opinions to themselves, but I can feel their despondent disappointment. But still, they do not push.

I turn to my paintings, instead, and, shockingly enough, manage to make a living of it. Some of my creations earn astonishing praises, and suddenly, I become well known.

That’s not why I’m doing it, though. It’s how I tell my story, without words, to my mother, who sits with me in my workroom, and watches, with sharp eyes, as I show Thedas before her, give it colours, tints and flair. Make it real, the creamy Arlathan, the mossy forests, the glittering air, alive, from the Fade – and the people. At first, it’s easy, with Sylaise, ‘Nain, Neria. Then, after a little hesitation, June, Mythal, and the rest of the family, even the grumpy Andruil. They all come to life under my brush. And Fen. Forever, and always, and everywhere, Fen.

My heart sings to him, misses him, and cries after him. I touch the portrait in front of me, capturing the warmth in his eyes, and allow the tears to fall, just a little bit.

It is a long time before I begin speaking at all of what befell me – and even once I do, it’s a heavily edited version. I make no mention of the violation of my person, or the attempted suicide – but I do not hide away the loneliness, and the sadness.

‘In the end, I gave up’ I say finally, and my voice trembles slightly, barely audible.

‘No you didn’t, my dear, my sweetling’ she denies softly. ‘In the end, you pulled through, you have returned. Your pride remains. And even if…’ she chokes, and takes a deep breath, composing herself again, ‘even if you have to go there again, I know you will always try your best to find your way back home.’

I mull over her words, and find that I had omitted far too much of the story for her to comprehend the magnitude of my failure.

How could I tell her any of that, really? That once, swallowed by despair she pushed me into, with her own hands, I was ready to end myself. Or the fact that I had nearly forgotten them all, that their faces turned into an undefined blur in my memories. Or maybe that I barely remember my life here, that I have problems connecting the name she calls me by with myself. Or, let’s go further down the line - that I had long stopped trying to get back home, until my emotional strain got the better of me?

I would hurt her, unnecessarily, by admitting I have only returned because it all got too unbearable, that I needed to be away from the pretension, the court, the emotions. Away from June… and from Fen.  

It is merely a breather for my frayed nerves, a salve for the wounds of my soul. I am aware, that I am treating my stay on Earth as a vacation – well deserved, but nonetheless, nothing more than a break – from reality, from Thedas, and it does not surprise me nearly as much as it supposedly should. I’ve spent six times my Earthen lifetime on Thedas, and am much more adjusted to being there, than here. Even if I would rather it weren’t the truth.

My mother adds,                          

‘Sometimes, there are things beyond our control. I’ll treat it…’ she laughs weakly ‘ as if you are taking long vacation, whenever you sleep.’ An ironical laughter bubbles within me at her words, as I’m perceiving the situation similarly – only from the exact opposite viewpoint. But she wouldn’t want  to know that, so I keep it down, as she continues, ‘And I’ll learn, find out how you’ve grown each time anew.’

The tears glisten in her eyes, but she smiles bravely, squeezing my hand reassuringly.

‘You will always be my beloved daughter, no matter what, remember.’

‘Doesn’t it bother you that technically, I’m close to thrice your age?’ the joke is in poor taste, and quite black in nature, but I cannot help the quip. Surprisingly, my mum takes it in good humour, and bursts out laughing.

‘I didn’t consider that before’ she admits, drying her eyes with her blouse’s sleeve. ‘It does put a new spin on things, doesn’t it?’ But her eyes wrinkle from amusements, as she reassures me more seriously, ‘I’ll always love you.’

I never mention my own, lost, love, but my mum knows, without me speaking of it. It is there, staring at her, from my countless portraits of the wolf – on the run, bent over a book, looking down from the battlements, laughing, smiling, speaking. Sometimes animal, sometimes Elvhen, but my feelings scream from the canvases, when I can’t, am unable to.

It is little wonder all of my wolf-related works sell best of them all.

After the confessions, I find peace among my family, and they do not disturb my reverie very often. By painting my life, I come to terms with it, a bit more, slowly. It does not hurt any less, but the pain becomes more manageable.

What I perceive highly ironic is that now, with the geas is in place, I have no need of the sedatives again. As long as I control the geas, I’m also restricting my realm travelling ability – as they are now bound, entwined. The newly gained awareness I have over my soul is enough to ascertain me of that.

The so called ‘addiction’ which got me into the trouble in the first place – now, discarded, easily and painlessly. I have no need of it anymore.

At first, it’s merely a light tug, an uncomfortable awareness of it being there. Yet, as months pass, it grows more and more persistent. The tug turns into pull, and pull becomes pain, and soon, I have to search for some method to dull it. I learn meditation, which lets me separate my mind from my body, and in doing so, with the newly attained endurance, I’m able to deal with it so much better.

But of course, it only gets worse, and soon, I cannot hide the signs of my deteriorating condition from my parents. They observe me with worry, as I struggle to control my shaking hands, as my body slowly stops responding to my commands, as blinding ache takes away my breath. Finally, my mum cannot stand my quiet, agonized suffering anymore.

‘It’s all right, Fean’Na.’ She has taken to calling me that, as I respond more readily than to my given name. In spite of the tears in her eyes, she says calmly, ‘You can let go.’

No, I want to protest. No, it’s been too short, not nearly long enough. What are eighteen months after years, years of suffering, and misery, and masks? So many masks, when I could not cry when I was hurting, when I could not scream, when my heart was plucked out, when I could not love – because it was forbidden.

But there’s a fierce stubbornness on her face, and I nod my unwilling assent. It’s not like I could avoid it for much longer, either way, I admit before myself begrudgingly.

And thus, once more, I find myself dragged through the oblivion.

The sight that awaits me on the other side is more than a little disturbing, as I find myself **enshrined**.

I rub my eyes, in disbelief.

Fucking enshrined, with the proper, decorative sculptures, and fresh flowers, veilfire… and altar. On which I’m laying – talk about bizarre. I huff at my ridiculous outfit of a pure white dress – keeping it that way must have been incredibly, unnecessarily, laborious.

The urge to just close my eyes back again and pretend nothing happened is very, very tempting. But my pride does not allow me to shrink away from the reality, and, reluctantly, I pick myself up, and jump down from the elevation, skipping the annoyance of stairs. My meticulous training by Fen’s side kicks in, and the landing is decently clean.

I walk through the door – and crash into the guard in front of them. Before I can snap back from my disorientation, he catches me by the arm, and pulls me behind himself, through a myriad of corridors.

If there’s one thing I’m certain of, it is that we are not in Mythal’s palace. The place, whatever it is, used to be, most likely, quite magnificent, but now, is in shambles. The signs of the former glory reflect in the broken up frescos, and the remains of the stained glass windows. But the frames are mostly empty, with the shards cluttering the floor, and the shapes have lots of pieces missing. The columns are chipped, the floor uneven, and dirty. In short, it is a complete ruin.

But why am I here? Guarded, no less? Not to mention… No, let’s not go there.

Finally, we reach the more lived in space of the building, which is also more presentable. But the People are strangely quiet, and scurry out of our way, with unexpected, and quite dismaying, fear.  

I have a bad premonition, when we finally reach the audience chamber, and I guardedly survey the surroundings. The person, dominating the room, is familiar, and as he twists around, and I am stunned.

 _‘Fean’Na, ma’Fean’Na’_ he cries out, crossing the distance between us instantaneously.

It’s June, but… He is far from the one I remember, all light and brightness gone, a shadow of his former self. Deep wrinkles mar his skin, and his posture is hunched and somehow… broken. A glint of insanity, once barely visible, now emanates from his face, and even as he draws me into crushing embrace, I shudder, frightened.

Before I can extricate myself from his arms, he catches my jaw and turns it towards him with a vice-like grip that allows no room for resistance, and crushes my lips in a heated kiss.

I try to push him off, desperately, but he merely grabs my hands and holds them, unyieldingly, like steel. Uncaring of the onlookers, or the bewildered, and quite terrified, guard by my side.   

Finally, he allows me a gasp for air, and with one glare he sends the Elvhen around us scrambling out. Still dazed, I barely register as he pulls me firmly behind him, and only come to my senses once I’m thrown on the bed.

Our joining is much different than any of the previous ones. June is not just lustful, no, in fact – he is more desperate, more forlorn than ever, trying to lose himself in me. The despair in his eyes, the misery, and the maniacal desire all mingled, make a terrible mess out of him, and call out to me. I do not know what haunts him, but in spite of my initial unwillingness, something in me responds to his frantic, woeful call for help, and I cradle him against myself, filled with pity.

 _‘Ma’Fean’Na, promise, swear, that you’ll never leave me again’_ he breathes against my naked back, brushing his lips against my spine.

No matter how pitiful I find him, that is the one promise I cannot make. I have never lied to him, and I have no intentions of starting now. I remain silent, even as he sighs dejectedly, pulling me closer against him, so that not even an inch of space separates us.

Internally, I berate myself for my weakness for him – had I not intended to finish it off, all those years ago? What purpose, what meaning did my actions have, if I allow myself to be once again trapped in his affections?

I do, still, constantly, without a doubt – painfully - love the wolf, and yet, I find myself comforting my jailer.

Then again, taking everything into consideration, it did not look as if he had any luck in getting over me. It’s not like I had misled him in any way – he was the one who wanted me, before I even spoke the words of greeting.

It makes me feel uneasy. I had hoped to be free of him, but now…

 I explore June’s new residence in the next days, on the excuse of acquainting myself well enough to find my way, but mostly, I’m looking for answers. What had changed, changed so much, that the ever-confident, ever-bright, stubborn June was reduced to this pathetic, begging creature? What happened, that there are no familiar faces around, none of June’s family around?

Why the only sight from the windows is one of a ruin, cinders of houses spreading far and wide? Are we even in Arlathan, anymore, and if not, why?

The People are cowed, terrified, so unlike anything I’ve ever seen before, it takes a lot of effort to find out the truth. Finally I piece together the story of a tragedy that happened during my absence, from scraps, whispered, half-spoken sentences, rumours, disjointed hints.

It had all begun with my return home. My disappearance had been as much of a blow to June, as I had expected – or even more. What surprises me is a fact that he let go of all of his lovers immediately – maybe their presence reminded him of me too much? I can hardly guess. His actions are, as usual, bewildering, and far from rational. Anyone else, in his place, would have at least **attempted** an alternative, but not June.

As more and more time has passed, he was only deteriorating further, instead of getting over it, and the despair was his constant companion. He stopped doing much of anything, drowning in desolate apathy. Finally, Mythal had had enough, and revealed before him my lie – and for a while, it seems that he returned to his former self, hopefully awaiting my return.

Only, I did not. Not for a long time.

And he has begun slipping into the madness again, with renewed strength. Mythal’s constant reassurances turned out to have the opposite effect than what she was expecting – and he started lashing out at people. He had turned violent, and rash, and cruelly thoughtless. Killed, unjustly – and once I hear of that, I shiver, distressed. I could see signs of the insanity in him, when he embraced me, and I can only guess that it will become only more prominent, and troublesome, in the future.  

And then, unwisely, Sylaise attempted to reason with him, when it was clear for all that any rationality was beyond him. She tried to take my side, intercede on the behalf of my independence, and implied that on my return, he should lift the geas – that it is unfair of him to force me against my will. That I had already proved my unrelenting will and desire for freedom, and she sees no reasons for it to change.

It had enraged June. Stripped of sense, of coherence, he had struck out against his sister with all of his, still considerable, might. She was taken off guard, completely, and I do not know how she would have fared, faced with his power head on.  

Only Hanninan, the faithful, ever loving Hanninan, got in the way, absorbed the blow, aimed at Sylaise.

They say he literally evaporated on the spot – ceased to exist.

Sylaise cried out, as her beloved disappeared in front of her – and, blazing with hurt, and inconsolable wrath, she turned onto June. The battle quickly escalated, as both of them were incapable of staying their hands, June blazing with fury, and Sylaise with vengeance. The two of them were ready to strike a blow that would have been, most likely, fatal for both of them – but Mythal tried to stop them. She has tried to deflect, protect both of them from one another – her beloved children, trying to kill, destroy one another – but their combined magics proved to be beyond even her capabilities. And she was shredded, torn by the blows she tried to stifle, one from the back and another from the front.

She had succeeded at least on one account – both June and Sylaise survived.

That marked the beginning of the war, war that was devastating Thedas right at this very moment.

Falon’Din and Dirthamen joined Sylaise, supporting her against June. Andruil, ever competitive with her sister, had, of course, opposed her – after hiding Ghilan’Nain safely away from the conflict. People whisper she put her to sleep, and enclosed her in a vault, to wake her only once she emerges victorious. Both sides blame one another, hold each other responsible for Mythal’s demise – and Elgar’nan blames them all. He is striking out against all of them, a random, disjointed acts of revenge and helplessness, as the loss of his beloved had driven him against the wall.   

And without Mythal, there’s no stopping them, no one to force them into compliance.

I look from the window of the June’s palace – or maybe a stronghold would be a more accurate, at this point, as it has long stopped serving any other function – and look down at the debris, spreading below.

It is, in fact, Arlathan. What remains of it.

The revelations, once I finally have the complete picture, leave me stunned. Dazed, dismayed, aghast…

…guilty.

With my departure, I have started a war.

 


	11. Fallen Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ASSUMPTIONS:  
> 1\. Thedas is the sole continent, a whole world of DA.  
> 2\. Original Inquisition timeline is around 8 years, and not 2 years, like it is according to Wiki.

**Fallen **Pride****

I refuse to dwell on my share of responsibility for the events much longer, lest it crushes me. The weight on my shoulders is nigh unbearable, and so, instead, I find things to occupy my thoughts, that do not directly relate to that, in diversion.

In the midst of chaos, Fen had disappeared. It is not very surprising that was the case, he never had much interest in godly politics, but I can’t help worrying.

So I start digging again. It is not easy, because of my well-known association with June, but finally, I come across a rumour circulating among the Elvhen, of a hidden organization supporting those affected by fighting.

Even though it is not mentioned, I feel Fen’s hand in it, and breathe more easily.

The city of Arlathan is in tatters. Split three ways across the lines of influence, it’s become the focal point of the ongoing conflict – and all of the gods still, stubbornly, reside in it, a challenge and a gauntlet thrown in the face of others. What I find curious, however, is why, in spite of Arlathan being in the center of it all, it remains so important none of them can afford relinquishing it – aside from Fen, but he was never involved in any of this nonsense. Is it symbolical value? Or maybe the mausoleums, carved into the rocks underneath the city, where those in Uthenara reside?

Fortunately, thus far, the sleepers have been safe, kept away from involvement. The chances of them awakening are slim, either way, as less than one in a thousand does it. I used to be curious, what the Elvhen saw during their rest, during their travels of soul, once they tire of their long existence. But even those who do wake retain none of the memories of it, or what had prompted them to go back in the first place – and so I had to curb my curiosity.

There are things that will have to remain a mystery.  

The war has changed its formula from the forceful beginnings, and the Evanuris do not even attempt to go directly against one another anymore. Instead, they target other’s power bases and followers, slowly diminishing the influence – and along with it, power – of the opponents. Rather than one, large in scale confrontation, it is led in many smaller skirmishes and clashes, a never-ending struggle. When I hear it’s been going on for a few centuries already, I can’t begin to imagine the devastation it had wrought across the entire country – and not only here, in Arlathan.

I cannot remain cooped inside forever, and soon, against June’s wishes, venture out, into the city. He warns me of the danger, and tries to assign a guard over me – but I just lose them easily, fade stepping in a blur of speed, leaving them behind frightened and confused. I have no desire for watch-dogs, and even less – for spies. And they would have been both.

Not all of the city is destroyed, and in fact, the Elvhen attempt to rebuild what’s been lost, even at the very moment. I am humbled by their courage, by their stubborn dedication, as they persist in their restoration effort, and attempt to lead their lives, only to have it smashed. And then, they shrug it off - mourn the losses, pray for those lost, and determinedly, begin anew. It is a hopeless struggle, but I can see the pride, shining, prevailing in their actions, and admire them for it.

No one tries to stop me in any way, whether by the virtue of common sense, or by the fear – because my masterful control over the Fade energies warns them away, even if my actual powers are meagre. I could not raze the city with a single spell, as some of them can, but in a single combat, there are few that could match up to me.

And soon, in my wanderings, as they circle further and further away from June’s stronghold, I find myself in front of another, easily identifiable by the hanging banners. Sylaise’s bastion.

I hesitate, uneasy, and to be perfectly honest, fearful, before stepping in. But to allow my fears to rule over me would be cowardly, and my pride… My pride would never allow that to stand.

It’s clear I’ve been expected, and the guards bow down, and without a hint of confusion, motion for me to follow.

The place is better maintained than June’s, but, not by much, I note offhandedly on the way, focusing on keeping my steps even, and my neck and head straight. The soldiers open the door, but remain outside, gesturing for me to enter, all without as much as a word.

The slim figure in a white armour, looking at the out-flung map of Thedas against the wall, draws my attention immediately.

 _‘I had wondered when you would come’_ she says, and I cannot stop a pained whimper, escaping me, as she turns around.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen. If the changes in June terrified me, in Sylaise, they seem like a sacrilege. Grief, carved into her, is so prevalent, it overshadows everything else. It is clear as a day to me, that Sylaise has never stopped mourning Hanninan, that her soul bleeds even now, as she smiles in the polite greeting.

And the smile, it is so wretched, so sad… There’s not even an ounce of light in it, only shadows, shadows and steel. The once pliant and gentle Sylaise is gone, and what remains was refined on sorrow, loneliness… and vengeance.  

It feels strange, wrong, to associate the last one with her, but I cannot deny the truth staring right into my face.

I take a few tentative steps inside, and feel the unwitting tears flowing down my cheeks, as the doors close behind me quietly. Oh, Sylaise, my friend… I am so sorry.

She looks at me steadily, collectedly… without condemnation, and I ask in astonishment,

_‘Why don’t you blame me?’_

‘ _For what?_ ’ she rises her eyebrow in mockery, with a sarcastic, derisive tilt to her lips, and all that is so unlike her former self, so unsuitable on her face, I am once again dismayed at the change. _‘For your wish to return home? That you had, perhaps, stayed there for too long? Or for playing with my brother’s feelings?’_ by the end, her voice is close to shout, and I take a step back, shocked by the vehemence of her denial.

She takes a deep breath, calming herself, before continuing.

‘ _There’s nothing for me to blame you for. You remained true to June, even though your heart belonged to another, you had never betrayed him – your pride, I suppose_ ’ she smiles briefly, but it is not a happy expression, as hollow and haunted as the first one, and my heart goes out to her. ‘ _It was my mother who placed you in this position – and you had warned, truthfully separated, from June, before disappearing. You didn’t have to – but you did. If she had not reassured June of your inevitable return, none of this would have come about.’_

It is surprising to find that Sylaise has put most of the blame on her now deceased mother, and not on June, but I can see some logic in that. June had never been mentally sound individual, and in a way, the assumption that Mythal had pushed him into that is not completely unreasonable.

 _‘If any other blame is to be placed, it would be solely mine.’_ She continues, and an edge of regret, cutting so deep it bleeds, can be heard. _‘It’s all my fault. If only I had listened, if only I weren’t so stubborn, trying to shield him…’_

 _‘You cannot think that! Even had you acquiesced, he wouldn’t have been able to take on June like that!’_ I firmly interject.

 _‘You can’t know that for certain’_ she replies steadily, darkly. And I sag in dejection, unable to present any more arguments, as she’s right, and we have no way of knowing that.

Sylaise is wallowing in guilt, I realize then. She is unable to let go of her revenge not only because she loved Hanninan, no, it’s also because she feels responsible, directly connected to the reason of his demise.

I leave her place with mixed reactions, feeling both lighter and heavier at the same time. On one hand, her words take some weight off my shoulders, and I’m suddenly more grateful than ever, for my reasonable, logical, and, first and foremost, fair, and just, friend. On the other, she has added a new pressure to the load – she hadn’t asked of me to join her cause. It is insightful on her part, to realize I wouldn’t, I couldn’t, and yet, it makes me blame myself all the more.

June knows, must know, I’ve been to his sister, to his opponent and bitter enemy, yet he doesn’t say a word. I do not know what to think of his generosity, but decide to just leave it be – though I do not see Sylaise again, for a very long time, not willing to test his boundaries.

At first, I try helping. With the many small battles all over the country, many of the People are affected, and there’s no a shortage of work. I use my abilities to jump across the battlefields, tend to the wounded – just the basic care, as my healing magic **sucks -** no matter the side, bring relief. It works, helping to alleviate my regrets, for a time. Until the day comes when I encounter a rowdy soldiers, and am forced to defend myself against their lewd hands.

The first time it happens, I am stunned by my own actions, and June tries to keep me from leaving, after I come back with bloodied hands and hollow eyes. I had torn them apart – my skill, what I’ve learned, had torn them apart. It was almost instinctual, once I’ve realized their intentions, easier than breathing, this dance I’ve practiced for years, but never used.

I had never believed myself capable of taking anyone’s life. Until now.

Of course, I’m not about to allow June to restrict my freedom, even in face of the danger. I slip away easily through locks, burning them down, and break his runes, and dismantle the wards – it’s all very similar to what I’ve been doing all this time, it only requires a small adjustment. A shift in perspective, and I can use all the experience I’ve had with dismantling the magic binding my soul, apply it towards inanimate objects.

I’m free as a wind, and I come and go as I please.

It is the second such encounter that is actually harder to bear, as this time, I’m fully aware of my capabilities – and their consequences. So when the rough hands grab my arm and stop me mid-flight, pulling me to the ground, I hesitate. I look at the three Elvhen soldiers, drunk on adrenaline and fear, and see their desire to prove before themselves that they are still alive, that they survived another day in the field. And I am unable to strike against them, not when I know it will kill them – not at first.

But once I feel their hands over me, when my tunic snaps at their insistent pull, and the cool air tickles my exposed skin, all my inhibitions disappear. No, I’ll not allow them to touch me, use me like that, no. I refuse, my pride refuses, I owe them **nothing** of myself.

And I blur into motion, shocking them by the sudden movement, lost in lust as they are, and don’t allow them to draw a second breath. As the bodies fall behind me, I can feel my hands shake.

They don’t, after fifth such situation.

The war changes everything. I harden, observing as the armies clash, as villages burn, as innocents and those not so innocent die. What had initially called to my sympathy, now is an everyday occurrence, which does not have me batting an eyelash. The cruelty, the brutality, the violence, the senseless murder – I’ve seen it all with my own eyes… Maybe it makes me a bad person, but in a way, I’ve gotten used to these terrors. There’s no other way, to survive, but to… accept? maybe tolerate is a better word… them.

Now, let’s be perfectly honest here: while I am compassionate towards the plight of the Elvhen, it is not what drives me to go out every day, to assist and try help, only to see those very same people killed next time something happens. I’m not a saint, far from it, in fact. The main reason behind my assistance is that no matter Sylaise’s word, absolving me, I feel responsible.

But finally, I grow weary of this pointless conflict, which doesn’t seem to be leading anywhere, nor getting any closer to resolution. In a way, I wonder, if it wouldn’t have been better for Dirthamen and Falon’Din to sacrifice Sylaise, and join June instead – the fighting would have ended swiftly, and with much less prevalent consequences. But I cannot fault them for their choice, as it would make me a right hypocrite – as I’m unable to make a move of my own. But there’s one thing that comes to mind. I didn’t have in me to ask it of her, the last time I saw her, so broken, so defeated. But I return, and gain the audience with Sylaise just as easily as the first time.

 _‘I beg of you, stop this madness!’_ I plead with her, reminiscent of all the blood and suffering abound.

 _‘I’m sorry, Fean’Na’_ Sylaise shakes her head regretfully, but I can see and hear the steel in her. It wasn’t there, once she was all softness and kindness and healing – but she does little of that, now. She dons the warrior’s gear and stands beside her brothers, no longer bringer of relief, but a death ripper, instead. _‘Had it not been for Hanninan… But I cannot let his memory, his sacrifice, go unavenged.’_

Trying any other venue would be meaningless, of course. Andruil revels in war, Dirthamen and Falon’Din have their own, obscure motivations, June is far too gone to listen, and Elgar’nan… Well, he is best left unmentioned.

I know I slump, as I turn around to leave, but even my pride has its limits, and even my fortitude sometimes lacks.

 _‘Wait.’_ Sylaise stops me, just short of the door. ‘ _I have a message for you.’_

She needs not speak whom is it from. I glance at the familiar penmanship, asking me for a meeting, and am suddenly energized, reminded, that in my plight, I’m not alone.

Of course, I follow up on it, and find myself in the refugee camp. It used to be a quiet spot in the forest, I remember, but now, the Elvhen running from war gather, trying to help and support each other in these hard times. And, in the midst of all that, there’s Fen’Harel, commanding, directing, controlling and planning.

He shines. In the turmoil and disarray, he is a hope for his people, who grow in numbers by the minute, as even along with me entering, there’s a group of ragged newcomers joining the fray.

They’re greeted with warm word, food, and shelter, with no questions asked. Me? I’m treated with suspicion and glares, my well-off state clearly relating the tale of having the support of someone mighty.

But then Fen sees me, and greets me with a smile, and waves the people away from him. I can see their scorn at my preferential treatment, but cannot bring myself to care, as my heart trembles. I am over the moon, that he still cares for me, even a little.

He beckons me to follow him, and leads me to a cave complex, where his sanctuary is stationed. With wolf statues, and offerings, and all that rubble. The floor is mossy and slick from moisture, and I slip up. He catches me by the hand, and stabilizes me – and his unexpected closeness brings heat to my cheeks, so I take a step away, trying to calm my beating heart.

Neither the time, nor the place, for my needless affections.

I angle my head towards him, and realize that he has also changed. Matured, grown more responsible, more dedicated. The lines of worry are there as well, and the stress and strain. He is what I’ve once seen a premise of, a god worthy following.

But he is also, still, my wolf, in his uncertainty how to begin, in his slightly unsettled posture, and I feel warmth spreading over me. We both do not know how to behave towards one another, with all that has happened, but ultimately, he is still the wolf, and I’m still a graceful Pride he had saved, and we care for each other.  

 _‘You are aware that Mythal is gone.’_ Is a sudden, unexpected way to begin a conversation after years – for him, centuries, close to one and a half of millennia – and I can’t help the sarcasm that follows,

 _‘You don’t say?_ ’ I laugh at that, having known it for a long time, and yet he says it as if it were some sort of revelation. _‘Ding dong, the witch is dead.’_ I hum melodiously, expressing my honest feelings on the matter.

While for the Elvhen, for Thedas, it is a tragedy, no doubt, I am sincerely admitting that – but for me personally? I’ve always hated the bitch, and even if her death has such profound consequences, there are days I rejoice at her demise. And then, there are days when I curse her stupidity, her arrogance that had gotten her killed.

‘ _That was in poor taste’_ Fen informs me coldly, scowling, but I just beam at him, filled with dark delight. _‘And technically, Mythal is not dead – her physical body was destroyed, but her spirit lingers. With time…’_

 _‘You could have let me savour the happiness for a while longer, before dashing it so mercilessly’_ I sulk at him. He does not appreciate the humour, rising his eyebrow in pointed reproof. I inquire curiously, settling down against the wall,

 _‘How come **you** know that? Shouldn’t she rather seek out her husband?’ _ It is a bit of an oddity.

_‘Elgar’nan is too lost in himself to hear her weakened self. She is balancing on the edge of existence, barely. It will take a long, long time before she can be restored anywhere near to her past glory.’_

All those years, and I still know him well enough to realize the undertone.

_‘You are planning something.’_

He smirks, and it is so wolfish, so like him, I feel my heart might burst from the love that threatens to spill. My dear wolf, unyielding, wise, and reasonable – of course he plans to save the world, I would expect nothing less of him.

 _‘Don’t say a word’_ I warn him, before he can divulge any more than that. _‘I’m still June’s.’_

His eyes cloud at that, and a shadow falls on his face, and I escape with my gaze, unable to face the pain in them. It is a strange kind of loyalty, mine, proud and unreasonable, one that doesn't take sides, and by not knowing anything, I'm not betraying anyone. Not saying this unwelcome truth would have been a disservice, an avoidance of reality. In order to chase away the sudden gloom, I change the topic, musing out lout,

 _‘How is it possible that Elgar’nan has lasted for so long?_ It might be cold-blooded, but as I see it, there’s no logical reason for that – he is outmatched by both other sides of the conflict. In terms of his achievements, he is more like a terrorist, really – his actions can have devastating effects, but are of no strategic importance.

Fen nods to my observations – even those unspoken. He can read me like no other, I remember fondly, with a slight smile.

_‘The only reason for that is he is considered powerless by both sides, but still powerful enough that going after him would mean engaging considerable resources – and either side feels the other would use the opportunity to route them, stab them in the exposed back.’_

_‘Hmm.’_ There’s logic in that.

A moment of uncomfortable silence, as I look for another topic – and isn’t that ridiculous, that after all that longing, all that missing him, the only things that come to mind are those impersonal, meaningless, for me, observations and queries? Our easy camaraderie was forever broken, that night, when I chose to go to June, and later, when we said our goodbyes, and breaching that is not easy – especially since the circumstances had not changed. Not in the large scheme of things.  

Fen shuffles, and I finally look at him again. There’s a new determination there, and I brace myself for his words.

 _‘Stay’_ he says, and my heart breaks at the naked longing in his eyes, and in this simple plea. He has not forgotten then – and I rejoice at the knowledge, even as my insides twist in guilt. It is unfair of me, I know, to be glad that I am still important to him, it’s egoistic and unkind, but there’s a limit to my selflessness and I’ve long crossed it.

However, it does not influence, cannot, my response.

 _‘I cannot.’_ I shake my head firmly, dimly aware of the moist gathering in my eyes. _‘June will tear Thedas apart to find me.’_ More so than he is doing now, the disaster would be incomparably worse, if he believed I betrayed him.

 _‘We can hide away from him’_ he replies compellingly, and I’m tempted. Oh, so very tempted, to just say, screw it all, and take his hand, and forget, and go.  

But I would regret that decision. And, in the end, so would Fen. And while I can live with my own regrets – I have so many of them already, adding another wouldn’t be much of a stretch – but bearing his would be too much, would crush me.

 _‘Something must have clouded your mind, ma’Fen’_ I should not use the endearment, I know, but he is dear to me, and lying about that, hiding it, is no longer in my strength. _‘Can you truly say you are capable of sheltering yourself, remaining aloof, as the world trembles under his wrath?’_

I shake my head.

 _‘The wolf I knew’_ still know, and love, you are merely, momentarily blinded by the emotions, my love, my heart, _‘would have never done so.’_

He sighs, barely audible, but I know, I’ve hurt him again. I close my eyes to hold back the tears that threaten to spill. I wouldn’t show him that. It would not help him, knowing I’m suffering as much as he is, and my pride refuses to add to his numerous burdens.

We speak no more, and soon, I leave his oasis of peace and aid.

Upon my return, I’m accosted by an angered June.

 _‘You’ve seen the wolf’_ he accuses me, fury making his hands tremble.

 _‘Yes’_ I refuse to cower before him, or lie. A sudden, faster than I can react, slap, sends me flying, and I hit the floor with a thud. My cheek burns with hurt, and I delicately touch my lips with a tongue, and taste blood. I lift my head slowly, shocked, as June jumps to my side.

 _‘Ma’Fean’Na, I didn’t mean to…’_ he apologizes, reaching out to me, but I flinch away from him. Dazed, I pick myself up, refusing his help, and wordlessly stare at him, feeling the beginnings of swelling over my face, and he sags, choking on his words.

I return to my rooms, still unable to fully process what happened. What had him so infuriated? Are his instincts acting up, when it comes to the wolf, is he aware that something is amiss? Or is it merely another sign of his lunacy, the split personality that shows so randomly I cannot keep up?

I stay inside for the next months, painting, as I refuse to add to June’s – presumed, as I have no way of making certain – suspicions, and bring his wrath onto innocents. June calms, and attempts to make his outburst up to me, but I remain cold and aloof, unforgiving of his transgression. He had crossed a line that I’m unable to excuse, or forget, never before had he hurt me on purpose.            

Soon after the event, I have an unexpected guest. I was making best use of moonlight, attempting to catch some of its otherworldly glow on the canvas, but the moment I hear the sight creak of the opening doors, I put my brush away, glancing towards the visitor. Fen had managed to – easily, I would guess – slip past the defences and watches, and made his way into my room, and his presence makes me draw my breath sharply.

What if he had been caught? I think frantically, panicked. I’m about to scold him for his recklessness, when he swiftly crosses the distance between us, and reaches out to my cheek.

 _‘He hurt you’_ the growl in his voice makes me flinch away from his delicate touch. His eyes are warm, though, and I ease back, allowing his fingers to caress my puffed up, swollen face.

 _‘It’s nothing’_ I reply softly.

_‘And the next time? Are you sure he’s going to stay his hand, next time, as well?’_

_‘No’_ I whisper, and surprise flickers in Fen’s eyes. He expected me to protest more, I guess. _‘Which is why I’m planning on leaving, soon.’_

He draws a breath, and I nod, confirming his suspicion.

 _‘I cannot choose. I feel for, cry, for Sylaise – and she is the injured party. But vengeance is not the answer, nor it will bring Hanninan back, and I fear she will understand that only once she stands atop the smoking ruins of the empire. And I would never betray June like that, not when I feel partially responsible for his pathetic state, my pride would never allow that. I pity him, I always did. Joining Elgar’nan… Well.’_ I scoff derisively, summing up the idea. _‘And assisting you… But you already know my reasons for not doing so.’_

 _‘I wish you reconsidered. Surely, with the way war is going, June will be unable to engage any resources in the search, or revenge, after you go missing,'_ He points out, convincingly. 

I just smile sadly. Fen does not understand obsession, or how far does it go. June’s actions had long stopped being anywhere close to reasonable. He reads my answer, and closes his eyes to hide away the pain I catch but a glimpse of, before grasping onto my hand, and delicately stroking it. I do not take it away, allowing myself just this tiny bit of heart-wrenching, tender, pleasure, as I continue,

 _‘So, here I am, with my conflicted feelings pulling me in all directions at once, and yet, incapable of actually doing anything – and that destroys me by the day. My pride doesn’t allow me to remain on the side-lines, nor does it allow me to act._ ’ I sigh. _‘Some would say it is cowardly, but, the only way for me is to disappear – before my own emotions consume me. I just hope, that by the time I’m back again, it will all be resolved – one way or the other.’_

He sighs heavily, and I observe, with wildly beating heart, as he bends down, and plants a feather-like kiss on my fingers. And then he walks away, leaving me flushed and witless by this simple, gentle gesture.

It is his way of saying goodbye, just like I did, all those years ago. Whether that means definitely extinguishing the flame that blazed between us, I do not know – but I fear the answer.

I’m afraid to go back home, not knowing what I’ll return to, next time – but all the more, I’m afraid to remain. I cannot go on watching everything crumbling, the beauty of Arlathan, of Elvhenan, falling to pieces, devoured by the flames of war and hatred and vengeance. Just like I told Fen – this helplessness is eating me alive. And so, once more, I reach towards the geas I was habitually working on, and loosen the seams over my soul.

                                                                                                                                                            


	12. Breathless Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ASSUMPTIONS:  
> 1\. Thedas is the sole continent, a whole world of DA.  
> 2\. Original Inquisition timeline is around 8 years, and not 2 years, like it is according to Wiki.

**Breathless **Pride****

Returning home does not bring the same relief as it did in the past, because on some level, I am aware that I had abandoned those in Thedas to the cruel fate. That I had run. I’m gloomy and guilt-ridden. I refuse to speak of what bothers me; which has my parents casting worried, searching glances, as I deal with my overwrought emotions.

Eventually, I settle down, and start **thinking** , instead of letting my feelings rule over me. I come to the unexpected, but obvious, once reached, conclusions.

My time in Thedas has taught me that sometimes, the inability to choose is also a choice in itself. Often, standing on the side-lines and observing the unfurling events, is much harder than taking part in them. It was the hardest of lessons, experienced on my own skin; one difficult to absorb and accept.  One I do not wish to repeat ever again.

However, once I look over my actions; I know, if I had a chance to go back, and do it over again. I would have done the same. No matter my sentiments, or presumptions otherwise, it was not a wrong choice. I have preserved what was most important to me – my values. My pride. They remain intact.

 Once I come to terms with it, I easily fall back into my peaceful life on Earth; enjoying the momentary break from struggles, and war, both internal and external.

Yet, after a while; the time to go back draws close, and I can’t leave without some warning to my family. Reluctantly, I call up my mum, and from her uneasy looks I can discern that she is suspicious.

"Mum. There’s… a chance I might now wake up this time " I tell her, trying to be as delicate as possible. Considering June’s… well, everyone’s deterioration, I have literally no idea how Thedas fared. I have to prepare her for the possibility.

"Why… would you say so?" She is understandably upset.

"I’ve been gone for over a year – hard to judge, but I expect a long time has passed.'' I reply neutrally, settling on an easier truth. 

"That has never been an issue before." My mother is anything but stupid, and I berate myself mentally for the assumption I could get away with such vagueness. I had not told them anything of the chaos, nor the rivers of blood, flowing in Thedas. Surrounded by peace as they are, they would not comprehend the horrors of war. I gladly spared them of it. Now, because of it; my words seem out of place, unexpected... frightening. 

I still have no intention of acquainting my mum too closely with the reality I’m about to enter.

"My lover..." That’s how I referred to June, thus far – not a captor, a jailer, but a lover I chose consciously. "Has been upset with my leaving. I suspect he will try holding me back, after all this time."

He certainly tried before, and while the words are definitely stretching the truth – a lot – they’re not an outright lie. It is not June, at least not directly; who would prevent my return, but there are things I will always keep from her.

"And I do not like hurting him. I might choose to remain, this time."             

She doesn’t appreciate it, but nods stiffly, with pursed lips. Certainly, she can comprehend the need to soothe and care for your loved ones, even if she does not like the circumstances making me choose between one world over another.

I do not tell her that in fact, I’m more fearful for my survival than willing to placate June in such manner. But it would be unfair of me, if I just went, and died, in Thedas, without any preparation or warning for them.

A familiar darkness sweeps over me, and on the strings of golden thread I return.

I do not recognize my surroundings; basked in the ghastly green of ever-flaming veilfire; and a strange play of shadows. A cave of some sort? No, the walls are polished and even; a clear manifestation of work of thinking hands, not mindless natural phenomena.

I pull myself up from the strange stone bed, carved from marble-like material. At least it’s not a shrine, I remind myself with a touch of irritation. I can feel all sorts of powerful preserving magics cast around the room, with a familiar tingle of Fen’s touch to them. I can follow the intricate patterns with a light contact, but as usual; I find myself a bit dismayed at the inability to actually see them, it severely limits my comprehension.

I explore the tunnel warily. Breathing in strangely thin air; I feel something important missing from it. As if it was empty, lifeless, not unlike the atmosphere on Earth, now that I think about it. But why?

My attention is grabbed by a small alcove containing a chest, with a sealed letter on its lid. I do not waste time grabbing it, and ripping the envelope.

 _‘_ _Dear Fean_ _’_ _Na_ _’_ I read from it, inscribed in the impeccable calligraphic manner of Fen’s. _‘_ _Forgive me for not being able to be by your side when you wake. As you have surely guessed, the way things were going_ _…_ _I could not let it stand. The Evanuris were incapable of overcoming their differences, and were going to bring down Thedas along with them. I managed to seal them away, beyond the Veil. Along with them, I have sealed away the Fade as well_ _–_ _there was simply no other way to achieve it, otherwise._

 _I expect you will find the world much changed although, how precisely_ _–_ _I'_ _m incapable of divining. It is impossible to foresee the long term effects the disappearance of magic from the air will have, but they will be undoubtedly, profound._

So that’s what I’ve been missing. I take a moment to call on my power, more consciously this time; instead of simply expanding my awareness, and find it much more resistant to my manipulations, as well as tiring. What used to be responsive to the slightest pull, now forces me to draw on my private reserves much more. After making my hand glow I stop, both frustrated and irritated. It will force me into precision, and careful management. How… inconvenient.

_Hopefully, it will be kinder to you now, that the cause of your misery is gone. I pray the change will ease your suffering._

_I_ _…'_ a crossed out section, before the writing begins anew, _‘_ _This place has been built for you, a secure sanctuary, once I stole you away from June_ _’_ _s palace, long after you fell asleep again._

 _I can see your scowl_ _–_ _do not worry needlessly. I had done it at the very last moment, just before the ritual, so no harm had come to me or mine on your account._

_I am left without much power to speak of, for the moment. The endeavour has left me entirely drained, weakened. Barely in existence, to be precise. I am forced into a regenerative slumber, and, most likely, will do so for a long time._

_Should you wish to visit me, I've provided you with the instructions that lead to my shrine. I'l_ _l not be much of a host however, my apologies._

 _My_ _’_ another erased fragment _‘_ _friend, I am sorry to leave you in such dire, uncertain circumstances. Know that it_ _’_ _s largely thanks to your thoughtful gift, that I_ _’_ _ve been able to achieve what I did._

 _I'_ _ll remain forever in your debt._

 _Fen'_ _Harel_  ' _  
_

I feel a pang of pain at the detached, emotionless tone of his words. Nothing personal, no alluding to our bond… Is it truly broken? Are we to remain like this, distanced, with platitudes and well-phrased, remote politeness? Are debts and memories of friendship all we share, all that remains?

While neither one of us is, or have been ever, particularly expressive, I have expected, hoped for, a hint of… Something… Anything really.

It appears my actions have finally caught up with me, and the wolf had given up. Considering I’ve rejected him **thrice** , it is not particularly unwarranted, nor unreasonable. I was just selfishly hoping he wouldn’t.

I take a moment, closing my eyes and calming my weeping heart, mourning the loss. Grieving over my gone love.

However, looking at his words objectively, regardless of my wounded feelings, it certainly explains a lot, though much is left unanswered. I’ll have to look for the explanations myself since, obviously, Fen is unable to provide them for me.

I look through the contents of the chest, and to my gratification; I find our usual camping utilities, packed and prepared for my needs. Fen had predicted I would not be content to remain in one spot for long, and so, sought to provide for such circumstances.

Always thoughtful, and caring, my wolf.  Well  not mine anymore, I remind myself; struggling under another wave of pain, as my breath hitches.

His foresight is an immense help, and in the next weeks I praise my time with him all the more as all the survival skills he had taught me come in handy.

The lack of Fade proves to be as much of an irritation as the initial premises suggested. I have to skimp on my magic, unable to traverse the lands using fade step freely; forcing me instead to travel by foot. While I’m as swift as ever; I’ve never claimed much endurance, and it shows.

 With  time, I gain in strength, and I am able to venture farther away from my hideout – sanctuary Fen had created. What strikes me first is that the humans have much progressed, stepped up, as its **their** villages, and settlements I encounter during my travels. The second thing is the fact that I have to learn a new language, if I’m ever to communicate with anyone.

Without guidance it proves challenging. I have to resort to theft, sneaking around, and listening in on private conversations, before I gain any semblance of understanding. The books I’ve stolen – and what a hassle that was, gaining access to a large enough library that would contain **some** tomes both in Elvhen, and this new language – are marginally helpful, but I know that in order to attain true proficiency, a conversation partner will be a necessity. 

Still, I shy away from making any contact with Shemlen. It’s a risk I am not keen on taking, as the absence of Elvhen; **any Elvhen,** grates on my nerves, and tingles in warning. Finally, I decide to make my way to  Fen’Harel’s shrine; hoping it would shed some light on the unnerving mysteries.

I encounter some of Fen’s followers, guarding the site of his rest. They refer to themselves as his Disciples, and I swallow a nervous laugh; they are reminiscent of Mythal’s Sentinels. I had a decidedly rocky relationship with the organization, obviously, as my patent defiance and disrespect towards the goddess was not greeted warmly by her most faithful. Fortunately, Fen’s Disciples seem a touch more reasonable in their approach, and honouring their patron, they seek wisdom and awareness above boundless, blind loyalty.

Fen would have approved. Maybe he did.

They do not skimp on sharing their knowledge, as well, and I’m glad for my somewhat impromptu trip. What I learn from them, however, has me rather forlorn, and edgy.

The picture painted before me is not a pretty one. With the disappearance of the Evanuris, – of the whole Arlathan, to be exact; the Elvhen divided after the centuries of conflict had not stopped warring one another.

Shaken after the loss of their guidance, and disturbed by the changes in magic, it became all the more frightening once they’ve started aging. While they were still relatively ageless in comparison with other races, for those acquainted with the idea of immortality, it was a huge blow. Cities and villages and clans, turned against one another, blaming each other for the choices made during the Twilight of Gods, as the war is called now, and for its consequences.

They  have blamed Fen’Harel most of all. The Great Betrayal, they call his greatest achievement.

 I cry, thinking of my kind-hearted, wise wolf. How could they disregard his efforts, his dedication, in such way? How could they not see the necessity that drove his actions? He had nearly sacrificed himself for the sake of Thedas. My heart warms when the Disciples inform me that writing to me was the last thing he had done before slipping away.

Maybe he still… No. I cannot continue driving myself against the wall in such a manner. My sanity won’t survive much more. We had freed each other of any obligations towards one another, and let’s keep it at that.

The lack of Fade had other, at first less evident, but growing more visible with the passage of time, effects. The Elvhen are becoming shorter, more lithe, losing in strength, with each generation. The Disciples speculate the loss of magic had such effect on their bodies. Although those bound to the gods more strongly – like the Sentinels, what remains of Elgar’nan’s Justiciars, and the Disciples themselves, seem to be exempt from that trend – as well as from the binds of time.

It appears my geas, strangely; works in a similar manner, tying me strongly to the Fade, to the respiration of Thedas, even through the Veil. In fact, once the scholars surrounding me come to this conclusion, they are overcome with excitement – could this possibly be the answer to counter this effect? I look at their hopeful faces, and realize with dread that they have their children to think of. Their mortal children, born in this completely mortal, breathless world.

Unfortunately, after careful examinations, their hopes are dashed. As I had expected; though refrained from pointing out, as it would be uncouth of me to shatter the wishes of my hosts without certainty behind my speculations. The level of power that had bound me here, the combined strength of Mythals and Junes, is impossible to replicate. It was similar, in fact, to the one used to create the Veil itself – and I find myself stunned; flabbergasted yet again, by the determination of June to keep me by his side. 

To distract themselves from the disappointment, and seeing my shock, the Disciples rush to explain that the Veil was created, weaved really, so that it would power itself. Therefore while the magics involved are immense, it was not as power-consuming as one would have thought. It was more of an issue of preparation, and establishing the initial push to begin it; rather than attempting a humongous spell encompassing the whole world.

Still. It nearly killed Fen during the casting, I counter in my mind. One of the oldest, most powerful gods in existence, with his influence at the Twilight’s end almost as broad as Mythal’s at her peak.

After this conversation, there’s a moment of uncomfortable silence, as the Elvhen surrounding me are trying to come to terms with yet another failure in their search of how to preserve their children. Tactfully, I try to back out, leave them to their sorrow. I have no part in it, am an intruder, really.

One of the guardians offers to take me to the shrine. As it had been my initial goal, I gladly take the offered chance to allow them at least a small comfort. A moment of privacy.

Fen’s shrine is similar to my sanctuary in architecture, though instead of a cave it’s a valley, hidden among the mountains; with a barrier erected around it. I cannot see the markings, but the redhead Disciple informs me it is an illusion of another, impassable mountain for others. I hear a startled gasp behind my back as I simply walk through it, feeling Fen’s magic washing over me and opening the passage in welcome.

Seeing him sleeping among the wolf statues, so deeply gone there’s almost no pulse once I touch him reflexively, is disquieting. I wonder if that’s how the others felt when they watched over **me** as I slept, for hundreds and hundreds of years. It differs from the usual Uthenara sleepers, in that I am aware his soul is still there. Although its presence is very weak.

I can feel the Veil is weak here, bleeding in more of the Fade through, and I can only applaud his choice of resting place. It will help him get through it more quickly, although, of course, it will take ages yet.

I spend the next few hours feasting my eyes on him, basking in his presence. It’s comforting, the way his aura pulsates lightly around him, in a way that screams, shouts, Fen to me. I miss his low, tempered voice, so rarely agitated. I take my time, knowing that once I leave, I won’t be back for a long time. Finally, with a regretful sigh, I kiss his cheek chastely, then berate myself for the instinctive yet unwarranted action, and pass through the barrier again.

I spend a couple more weeks with the Disciples. They educate me in the Shemlen language and current politics, and in turn, I tell of the wonders of Arlathan, before the fall had begun. It is sad that none of them had been born before the Twilight, that none of them can actually comprehend how much has been lost. They only see what concerns them the most, the mortality and the weakened magic being the most obvious things, and while I can’t in good conscience begrudge them focusing on their immediate problems; I saw the prominence, and then decline of the entire civilization, as it plunged into the abyss.

The arrogance of the gods brought about their downfall, I had cursed Mythal with these words. Only I had never expected it would come to fruition in such a manner. I feel the guilt swelling in me, twisting my heart; I could not have known, yet it does not absolve me entirely of responsibility over what my pride had wrought.

Yet, as empires fall, another ones rise to take their place. While the Elvhen squabbled pettily, recklessly spending the remainder of their power; Shems had advanced beyond the barbarism I remembered from close to three thousand years ago. The Tevinter Empire they call it, ruled by the members of so-called magisterium – the people gifted in reaching beyond the Veil to harness magic, apparently.

It surprises me that the humans here are capable of that – Children of the Stone aren’t, certainly. The most the underworlders could do was carve runes in lyrium, the crystallized Fade gathering in their tunnels.

Lyrium, the tears of Thedas. It holds magical properties, but the dangers that come along with the boost of power provided by it were far too profound to ignore. Shems got addicted, but in Elvhen, it wrought true damage, and was soon forbidden. Only Children of the Stone could handle it safely, and with good reason, I guess, as they lived so closely to it.

Even with the Fade gone from the air I wouldn’t touch lyrium, unless my life literally depended on it.

There is a darker side to the Shemlen empire, one I should have really expected. Only, for some unfathomable reason, didn’t. Once the humans could hold even ground against the Elvhen, they slowly subjugated all of Thedas, and… took the conquered race into slavery.

Yes, the reason I saw no Elvhen was that the entirety of the race, aside from the few lucky clans, got enslaved.  Since the long-lived and dangerous servants like them are a privilege only the ruling class deserved, it was no wonder the villages away from the capital had not a one.

It makes me choke on the Tevene as I learn more of it, the remembrance of that fact. I detest restrictions on freedom of any kind; little wonder, with a history like mine, and what happens in the empire are the chains of the worst kind. I can sympathize with Elvhen’s anger at the absent gods a bit more after that, although it is unquestionable that they ought to have been able defend themselves. This shifting of responsibility is not uncommon among the losers, and they have lost literally everything.

What bothered me previously, the lack of records of any history, hits them all the more with Arlathan gone. The largest libraries were there, the Universities and the scholars. They have no connections to the past, nothing to go by.

I leave the Disciples, unable to remain much longer; having grown restless, hounded by my emotions. I feel guilty and undeserving of their hospitality, considering my role in the tragedy; as well as my treatment of their god.

The time in their company made me grow lax, inattentive. Soon, I pay for my carelessness and disregard of safety measures, and wake up in a dungeon.

In the hands of slavers.

Whether they assume me a runaway, or one of the few remaining wildlings; as they refer to the still uncaptured Elvhen, matters little. I am fair enough to fetch them good coin, but only providing they break me, my spine, and my blazing independence.

Yet, soon, my oppressor learns that I’m unaffected by the pain he inflicts on me. I had learned indifference under the geas’ strain, and treat this vessel of mine with detachment. If he desires to destroy my beauty, so be it. If he desires to cripple me, well. I’ll cope.

In the end, he cannot reach, no, he doesn’t even get **close** to the brink of my endurance, and he fears for my life. He is frustrated with me, I realize with a touch of dark humour. There’s nothing he can hold against me to bring me to heel – I have no family, no friends, nothing precious to hold onto; aside from my weakening existence. The only thing he could threaten me with is a threat to my life – and both of us realize it is a bluff. I’m worth far too much, to actually risk me that way.

And so the situation comes to a standstill, when he takes out his frustration on my back. Whipping it until it bleeds, and I refuse to bow down, or even scream; defiant, until I lose consciousness.

But then, unexpectedly, a buyer appears; in spite of my disobedience willing to acquire me. What interests him is my literacy; apparently, the slavers had plundered and kept all of my belongings, and the book in Elvhen was a rather prominent item among the rubble. Still, he is a bit hesitant to invest in such uncertain commodity.

But the slavers are very enthusiastic that they can finally be rid of me, even if the gain is less than their original expectations. So they lower the price on the account of my stubbornness, and finally, come up with a solution that satisfies the buyer, which would prevent me from actively running away.

They break my leg.

I’ve little need of it as the translator, after all – and that’s the role I assume in the service of my new owner, Erasthenes. Most of the Elvhen lore and wisdom was lost with the Arlathan, but the Tevinters use whatever scraps they find to further their own understanding of magic, and adjust it to the changed situation.

I suppose I ought to be grateful it was only **one** leg, left one, and not both of them, but, strangely enough, there’s little graciousness in me when I consider the issue. The flares of pain might have something to do with it.

I submit to Erasthenes’ will, partially. It chafes at my pride, but I know that closed off in the dungeon I’ve little chance of escaping. To appease my irritation, I take delight in making slight, deliberate errors and omissions; while ensuring they are not so glaringly obvious, and might be easily considered a mistake. Especially since none of the ‘Vints even consider I might understand what I’m writing about, that I might have studied magic as well.

I remembered the words of Disciples, that the touch of power diminished greatly among the Elvhen. I take care to keep my aura wound around me tightly, and none of them are capable of sensing it; once I’m surrounded by those actually gifted, and not mere brutes. I suppose, with some effort, they would have discovered my deception, as, especially initially, it’s not particularly skilful, as hidden as I would like. But it would require a suspicion on their part, and all of the magisters surrounding me are perfectly happy with their ignorance and arrogant superiority. 

I consider it my luck Erasthene’s has little interest in the carnal pleasures of the world, and despises them displayed in his students. I do not know whether I would have been able to stay my hand had any one of them touched me in such manner. As it is, I bear the lecherous glances with ostensible disdain and disregard.

Any violence, or betrayal of my true potential prematurely; would have undoubtedly gotten me killed. 

Later on, I find other things to occupy my rebellious tendencies with; aside from my personal, private, revenge. The slaves surrounding me find me, and my determination, both astonishing, and aweing. I smile with a touch of irony as I realize there’s not much of a difference in that regard between here and my times in Arlathan – again, Pride is inspiring, for some.

But this time, there’s no Fen to lead these poor People, this time, they’ll have to rely on themselves to kindle the rebellion. So I take a more active approach, and try to teach them the small ways in which they can support each other. All the ways in which they can retain, even now, their independence, their freedom. It raises the morale, the awareness that the magisters cannot, in fact, control everything in one’s life.

Freedom is not merely confined to physical world; it is also a state of mind, and no one has the capability of chaining it.

Again, there’s little nobility in my actions. I readily admit, I take great pleasure at thwarting the indoctrination efforts of the Tevinter masters, as my word spreads like a wildfire, and I can see the straightened spines, the hardy, half-hidden glares, and the glint in their eyes. I am aware that many of them will die for the illusion of freedom, for the perseverance of the flighty ideals, before a true chance appears for any of them.

At least partially, it **is** sympathy. There are many parallels between my situation and theirs, although from the chains of factual slavery, I can be rid at any time, and never have I been in actual danger of dying, aside from by my own hand. Well, before. But I am, was, bound to Thedas with similar disregard to my rights as a thinking, feeling being; as they are bound to their masters.

Years trickle, and I let many opportunities pass me by, unreasonably engaged in my role. Secretly, I’ve begun teaching the other slaves to read and write, another thing they can revel in during their quiet rebellion. I begin to feel the pressure to return, go back home again, as the geas has again loosened, weakened. 

The decision is made for me, when one day, a young magister, who goes by the name Corypheus remarks on my surprisingly youthful appearance. Untouched by time, even after all the work in the archives, he says, and his eyes glint with sudden interest; he remembers me as a child, and has managed to grow into power and influence all the while. I shudder at the ominous tone, and know I cannot dawdle anymore. In fact, I bless, am incredibly grateful, for his arrogance; which has led to this unbidden warning, before they could take any closer look at me.

Swiftly, I use one of the boltholes I’ve arranged to escape the archives, and later, Minrathous. As I pass it in speed, this time, not skimping on my mana, I have one small regret. That I’ve never been able to really see a wonder that the city is in its glory. It cannot compare to the vastly superior Arlathan, built and refined over ages with applications of the most careful magics, but it does have its charm. Yet, as a slave, I barely left the confines of my workplace, and even when I did; I had to keep my head down, allowed no more but a glimpse.

The escape is not as flawless as I would have wished, as my leg soon acts up again; unused to such strain after years of sitting position, and I am once again reminded; that it was mangled beyond repair. Well, at least without skilled intervention, the mangling was permanent. But the pain had never stopped me before, and stealing a horse without any remorse, I proceed to push myself heavily, and arrive back at the Disciples enclave.

They welcome me with surprise, and curiosity, but I’ve little patience. I respond sketchily and dryly to their queries; asking instead for writing utensils; before leaving, I owe someone a letter. He had wrote one for me, after all.

The words do not come easily, as I scrap the first few attempts in irritation.

 _Dear_ (beloved) _Fen_ ,

 _I_ _’_ _ve been_ (lonely, sad, lost in this misplaced world) _well._ _My trip back home had helped me regain some_ (barely any) _of my balance, just like I hoped it would._

 _As you_ _’_ _ve said, the world is much changed_ (broken, mangled beyond repair, just like my leg). _It is strange, not seeing the Arlathan etched, glimmering against the skies_ (unnatural and sad) _._ _The lifeless air took some getting used to, but you know me, I_ _’_ _m_ (breathless, the world without you has lost all of its spark) _as resilient as they come._  

The next part is even harder, as I cannot find any way to soften the blow, yet I think he should hear it from me first, and not from his people.

 _The Elvhen have fallen to their knees, and bend their necks before the might of the Shemlen empire_ (squandering the chance you had presented them with) _._

 _I have attempted to rectify the situation, teach them of what I know best_ _–_ _Pride_ _–_ _but the wisdom and perseverance are hard to come by, so I expect it will be years before my efforts come to fruition._

_But the spark is there, as it ever was._

_Pleasant dreams, and may our paths cross one day._

_Fean'Na_

I look at what I wrote, and see the missing words, more of them than those actually written. There are many more things I want to desperately include, but refrain.

I miss you.

I would do anything, anything to see you once more.

Neither I, nor the Elvhen, are deserving of your regard, but I beg you, do not give up on either.

And, of course, never forgotten, and never spoken, I love you.

But I’m doing both of us no favours, clinging onto what once was; as there’s a chance we might never meet again. The truth would hurt him, since he had cared for me; maybe still does, slightly, a bit. He would feel guilty and dismayed, and I do not wish that burden upon him, my stance remains unchanged from all those years before.

While I can’t help my feelings, the least I can do for him is to appease his worries, all the while – seemingly – letting him go. Absolving him of his devotion to me, which he had displayed in the past. It’s not only unmerited, but also, it binds him, when both of us run a chance of meeting a misplaced arrow, or bandit’s sword in this dangerous, new world. I wouldn’t, can’t, deny him the chance of meeting someone who would help in healing his wounds; some of which I’m responsible for. So I let it stand at that. Far more impersonal than my intentions, but truthful enough for me to accept.

I entrust it into the hands of the faithful followers of Fen’s. Unwilling to trespass on his shrine anymore, but more than that; I'm distrustful of my own willpower to leave it promptly.

Instead, I determinedly make my way back to my own sanctum, and with relief, lie against the white marble.

I’m safe, and relatively unharmed. It’s time for my well-deserved break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone, please know that this chapter is as wonderful as it is thanks to my lovely Editor, who graced me with her offer of help. A round of applause and appreciation for DarkAngelDisuke.  
> 


	13. Aimless Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ASSUMPTIONS:  
> 1\. Thedas is the sole continent, a whole world of DA.  
> 2\. Original Inquisition timeline is around 8 years, and not 2 years, like it is according to Wiki.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tevene will be, henceforth, underlined.

**Aimless **Pride****

I allow myself a lot of leisure upon the return home, thoroughly enjoying the freedom in all of its glory. No one to give orders I have to follow, no skulking around, no uncertainty or danger lurking in every corner. Thedas is as nerve wrecking as ever, with or without June, as it turns out.

My reverie becomes slightly more jaded, after particularly disagreeable conversation I have with my mother.

‘I know it’s not easy for you, but from what you’ve told me, it’s been a while since you’ve been involved with anyone.’

An understatement – I haven’t had a lover for over thirty years. The reminder is not pleasant, as my mind involuntarily brings up the memory of sleeping Fen, and I decidedly do not like where this is all leading.

‘I would like you to consider dating, again, honey. You cannot keep living only in your fantasies, and neglecting your real life. The time comes when you ought to think of starting a family, you are not getting any younger, my dear.’

That’s when I realize; she has never fully accepted, comprehended what I’ve been talking, darkly joking about. The time I had spent in Thedas, it is beyond her; she cannot reconcile it with the vision she has of me, not fully. While she accepts the changes within me as they appear each time; she pushes the awareness that it has been another few decades for me into the far back of her mind. As well as the fact that what’s **real** differs for me and for her.

She does not understand. My adventures, heavily edited for her sake, are merely a fantastic mirage; while for me, my time on Earth is just as unreal. There’s a bone deep awareness within me, that had I been given the chance to break geas forever, I do not know if I would have taken it; not after all this time. It’s been so long… Then again, the peace and tranquillity I experience on earth are always much preferable to the turmoil I face in Thedas.

Or maybe it’s the opposite, an unwelcome suspicion rises within me. Maybe she does in fact get it very well, and seeks to chain me, here, back on Earth – hoping that once my familial bonds won’t be enough to call me back home, love will. Everything in me reviles at that notion. I pray, fervently, that it is subconscious reaction of her innate wit and cunning, and not a carefully planned and implemented ruse.

I couldn’t stand it if I knew she sought to manipulate me in such manner.

To alleviate some of her instinctive worries, I reach out to my friends from the past, Tim and Lydia. It is burdensome, and casts shadow over my normally undisrupted period of rests since I’m forced to don a new mask, for their benefit. Though I freely admit I barely remember them, blaming it on my recurring periods of coma and presumed, correlated, problems with brain functions. But it is so tiring, as they expect their friend buried within me, and I know that the girl has long perished, crumbled and reshaped herself; to survive the circumstances beyond their understanding.

But the talk of my potential boyfriend returns, hangs over me like a shadow, and, reluctantly, I begin to consider it. Something in me deeply protests, recoils from the notion of dating anyone dishonestly, still having Fen in my mind, heart, and soul. But I slowly warm up to the idea as a temporary solution – a companionship would be nice, and it’s not like I have to engage deeply in the relationship. I just have to be honest with the guy from the start, and it’s not like I am betraying anyone, right?

Right?

In spite of my misgivings, I agree to give it a try. The occasion appears spontaneously, as I am invited to a party following the grand opening of the new exhibition in one of the galleries where my works are featured. I drink a bit too much, and find myself accompanied by a kind-hearted, fellow artist, as we discuss the allegories contained within our work.

Mine are much more depressing and gritty than his, of course.

His name is Bran, and he has a warm, brown eyes. It’s their openness and honesty which make me trust him.

Our entanglement never progresses beyond the casual comfort of that first meeting. We date, yet we do not; as I cannot bring myself to any intimacy with this man and he never pushes, satisfied with the scarce kisses and talks we share, of life and philosophy and nature. It is a very close friendship; even if we call it a relationship before our families and friends; even if I tell him nothing important of myself. Sometimes, I wonder what does he get from it all – a thrill of being able to claim he is dating a successful painter? But he is from the same circle, and it’s just not his style, so that idea is quickly discarded.

If I’m perfectly honest, I do feel a bit guilty. It is different than with June – I had no choice then. With Bran, it is much different, even if it’s more of a farce, a front, than anything resembling a true bond. But Fen also found a temporary relief in arms of another? Not to mention, I am supposed to be letting him go. The romanticized ideas of tragic love that would remain with one for the entire life kind of scare me. I look to my parents and see the love which is all about sharing the hardships and happiness, and not pointless, aimless, pining after the unreachable. That brings June to mind, and it’s plain disturbing. I am definitely **not** like him. I do not think I am that much of a masochist to hold onto Fen for years and years without close to no contact, surely.

Am I?

And just as naturally as we started, we drift apart, once I grow more and more tired with Bran’s **mundanity**. I miss Thedas, I realize, I miss the world which rules I understood and knew how to bend, and he cannot replace it. And his eyes are brown, not stormy grey.

He… is not Fen. In so many ways, he falls woefully short of him, all the while bearing certain resemblance which makes it all the harder to ignore.

I find it highly ironic that what was supposed to bring me closer, reacquaint me with the life here, instead only makes me long for the other reality more. What my mother intended backfires rather spectacularly. This time, I reach to my geas long before it starts really bothering me, and leave of my own will, fed up with the pretension I had to upkeep these past few months.  

I wake up to the familiar glow of veilfire, as stable as it was the moment Fen had cast it. I stretch, and jump on my feet, only to lose balance and flailing, drop back onto the carved bedding yet again. I had forgotten, in those months away – I’m a partial cripple, here.

A wave of frustration passes over me, and I swallow a few unruly tears at my pathetic state. It was easy to dismiss, before, when I was stuck in the Archives, or when I was running, high on adrenaline, but now, I feel this new vulnerability keenly. The jerking, uncertain movement and the pain of muscles, inflated with every step, and I know, the days of the graceful Pride are gone. It is a bitter pill to swallow, I wonder if perhaps some part of me believed that once I were gone, the injury would somehow become less significant.

But even if I’m no longer graceful - and the revelation stings - I am still Pride. So I pick myself up from the bed once more; and slightly leaning against the wall, I slowly limp towards the exit. My magic cannot support me forever; nor even often, as it did during my panicked getaway; I remind myself. I’ll learn to deal with this weakness properly, without relying on my mana.

As I come to the stash, all thoughts are swept away, at the sight of a new letter from Fen atop of it.

_‘Dear Fean’Na,_

_I’m glad you do not mind the changes that occurred too much. I’m sad that we had missed one another, but it is only expected, with the tricks the timeline is playing each time you return home._

Then we are two; though judging from the light tone, I’m the one much more regretful.

_I’m pleased that you visited, even though I was incapable of receiving you._

_While I mourn the tragedy that befell the Elvhen, I must confess to feeling relieved, and grateful, that you have been spared of the curse of mortality._

So am I, I guess. It gives me hope that we could, possibly, meet again one day, dear wolf.

The following paragraph had been erased in its entirety, so I look to the next one. Though I am a touch curious, it seems unlike Fen, so… organized, and yet in his correspondence with me, strangely sloppy, uncertain.

_I also admit to not being very surprised by your relating of their incapability of retaining the independence or peace after everything that happened. The Elvhen had been led by the Evanuris for so long, they forgot it has ever been otherwise. I wish I had some means of preparing them beforehand, alas, the secrecy of my plans could not be endangered._

_They become more and more disjointed from their roots by the day. They call each other elves, now – at a guess, some of the Tevinter scholars had decided to adjust the form that was hard to pronounce, to something that fit their uncouth language. What enrages me is that the Elvhen have just… gone along with it, discarding yet another piece of their heritage. As of now, barely one in three speak the Elvhen language properly, and even less can write; although the illiteracy can be blamed more on their circumstances._

_Their knowledge of history and culture is even more appalling, close to none._

His indignation and frustration are palpable, ooze from the letters. My Fen, you always valued knowledge and wisdom above all, it must be unbearable for you, this deplorable state and behaviour of the fallen People. It was hard to bear even for me, after all, and I was less concerned with it between the two of us.

_But let’s leave the issue aside. The flames of rebellion – your work – are still flickering, here and there, so the hope is not entirely lost. I have faith that the day will come, when we will be able to rebuild, restore, what was lost – although that is long in coming, without a leader to rally around._

_Unfortunately, even though I’ve woken, I can already feel my strength leaving me. I roused only because of Mythal, who recalled my spirit back, since she needed assistance._

_I believe I owe you the warning – she has taken a body, now, regained herself enough for finally taking this step. It is mortal, merely, and she will have to go through some unusual means to maintain it, but I did not pry into details._

_As I mentioned, my help had come at a cost, it was far too early for me to undertake such endeavour, and it forced me to rest, yet again. Which means it is more than likely I’ll miss your presence yet again – hence another missive._

I am very irritated by this fact, and saddened, and regretful. I do not like that Mythal had taken precedence over me; although it is neither unreasonable, nor undue. She is still a goddess; more than that, she is the largest hope for keeping the other Evanuris in check if the Fade is ever to be restored. And I cannot deny, I miss it, every day; the freshness and intensity and power breathed in, lurking in everything, as it used to.

_In exchange, I demanded she keeps away from you, should your paths cross, and I advise you the same. Do not seek her out, do not confront her – even in this weakened state, she would pose a serious threat. And it would be a terrible blow for Thedas, to lose her forever._

Another erased part, which I skim impatiently over, looking for any reassurance that **I’m** also important, at least to him. But I do not find anything, aside from one brief sentence, rather impersonal.

_I would not like to find out of your death at her hands._

_Fen’Harel_

The disappointment, and bitterness, swell within me, once I realize that this is it, the end of the letter. This is the limitation of such exchanges; were I to see him in person, I could read the unspoken words from his posture, tilt of his head, intonation, facial expressions and gestures; but confined to merely letters, I cannot judge. Cannot be certain. Where do we stand, my wolf, now, relative to one another?

It is not a question to be posed through correspondence, but one to be asked directly.

With a sigh I put the letter away, and reach for my gear. Being frustrated by the circumstances I can’t help does nothing but puts an additional strain on my nerves, meaninglessly. I should focus on things I can do, instead.

So I spend weeks, and months, conquering my weakness, doing strength exercises that help supporting my skewed balance, and mercilessly charging at hapless trees as I would against enemies, until I learn to compensate. Even my fade steps are affected, slightly, by my lack of stability; but stubborn repetition allows me to slowly gain control far exceeding one I had before. A dream of the mages, near blink, with how I can manage these bursts of speed; and finally, I feel safe enough to travel.  

Unfortunately, any long distances by foot are still out of question, as in spite of my best intentions, the muscles start to protest after a few hours. They burn and inflate, and swell up near the crooked bone, and even my determination isn’t enough to overcome it. I  am forced to acquire a mount from the Disciples once I reach them; and learn to ride aside, instead of astride, saving my leg. It is much harder to control the animal this way, and one is far less stable, but with practice, it’s no slower than the normal way.

One of the Disciples also teaches me a way to bind my muscles with bandages in certain way which force them in much more appropriate and less irritating position. Unfortunately, he claims that such artificial support will not remove the issue entirely, and apologizes for his inability to straighten the bone itself. Still, I’m grateful for anything that lessens the pain.

I do not stay with them this time for long, as my presence reminds them of their loss. Their children had left long ago; dispersed across Thedas in newly created clans that still follow ways of Fen’Harel; and… died. It’s their great-grandchildren now who remain, and they rarely ever visit. I suppose it must be hard, facing your frozen in time ancestors, when one is aware of his or her own time unrelentingly slipping away.

At first I wander aimlessly, although much more carefully than before, adjusting to the slight changes in Tevinter language that appeared over the years. The past experience with slavers had taught me the necessity of protecting myself from them, and they’re less discriminating in choosing their targets than before. The Tevinter empire has expanded its borders across most of the continent, and these scavenging groups of bandits started targeting other human tribes, living across the borders, much less culturally advanced than ‘Vints. The Avvar and Alamarri, and Citriane, and many others are constantly endangered by these plundering expeditions.

Once more, fate interferes with my actions, as I encounter one of such parties, already after their bloody work is done. They are the last of the group, transporting women and children directly to Minrathous; from what I manage to glean secretly listening to their talk, the males from the village are being delivered to the mines in the western part of the empire. They are stragglers, left with the weaker, more vulnerable cargo.

They literally say – cargo.

It enrages me, and immediately, I begin plotting. Following them is not a problem, they’re a rather careless bunch. I bite my lips and have to stop myself from acting prematurely at some of their behaviour towards their charges, though. The only thing saving these poor people from rape is their higher value if they remain untouched; as it is, they **merely** suffer daily humiliation and degradation.

My chance appears when they stop near the town, and manage to get a hold on a rather substantial amount of alcohol. Drunk and powerless, they pose no challenge, and I promptly take up this opportunity.

Under the cover of night, I slip into the camp, and soundlessly slit the throats of these animals, one after another. My hand does not tremble, and I feel no remorse, leaving a trail of bodies behind me. They more than deserve their fate.

Those posted on guard are the last remaining, and I have to actually reach to my mana to deal with them – but there are only four of them, and they are none too skilled. They are completely startled as I suddenly appear behind their backs, and that momentary confusion is all I need.

I turn, bloodied, and see the widened, terrified eyes of the children bound to the trees by the rope, their mouth open in silent scream. Of course I scare them, I berate myself; they’re still unused to death.

As they should be, at such a young age. Alas, this is brutal world, and unless they grow up quickly, they won’t survive.

I had managed the rescue more or less flawlessly; in fact, I am astonished at how well it went.

It’s returning these poor captives to the border, and their homes, that is more of a problem. In spite of the captured horses, our procession is unnervingly slow, as most of them cannot ride. They are forced to learn, however; in spite of the females bemoaning their poor, strained muscles, I have no mercy on them. If they wish to go back home, we cannot dawdle; the news of my actions are sure to spread, and a reclaim party will be sent.

I breathe a sigh of relief once I’m finally rid of them. These weeks were particularly trying, and more often than not, I cursed what had possessed me to get involved.

Yet, just as surely, I do it again. And again. I am, somehow, incapable of leaving these bandit parties well enough alone, and the rumours of it spread, across the Empire. The slavers take more care, and employ more defences to ensure their safety, and for a while, I’m forced to lay low.

The next time I try something, I almost die, having fallen into a trap. The group seems to be another one of the careless ones, disregarding the whispers of warning against near solitary raids. But a four of them, in charge of yet another group of former farmers, torn from their homes to serve the greatness of the Empire.

What I’m unaware of, is that there are two mages among the bunch, not particularly powerful; they’re merely slavers, after all; yet they reach to an unknown brand of magic for me. Blood magic.

The demons, a distorted beings from beyond that appear in answer of their call, take me completely by surprise, and it nearly costs me my life, as I barely sidestep one of the blows in my direction. My mind swirls in confusion – what the fuck is it? What are these? During days of Arlathan, there was nothing of the kind, I am certain.

In spite of my shocked disorientation, I manage to dispose of them, although I do suffer a few wounds I could have avoided. Fortunately, among the captives, there’s a herbalist, who skilfully dresses them, and provides me with appropriate herbs once the fever strikes.

But it’s not the end of my surprises, as an elf steps out from among the group, and introduces himself as a member of so called Wings of Freedom. They appear to be an organization consisting of former slaves; having escaped their bonds or regained their freedom in some other way; fighting for the change of fate for this lowest class within the empire. The man believes I would be an immense asset to their cause, and as our goals appear aligned, would I perhaps consider joining them?

I am still dazed from the injuries, and I beg pardon for the moment, asking him to repeat his offer once I’m coherent enough.

Over the time it takes to get the farmers to the safety, I heal, carefully considering the issue. The restoration of my health is much slower than it ought to be; strained from the effort of journey as I am; but the presence of a healer keeps it steady.

It bewilders me, once I actually consider it - what sort of stupidly pretentious name is Wings of Freedom? Talk about throwing sand in the eyes of the magisters, it literally screams in provocation.

Then again, considering what sort of foolhardy lunatics the group must consist of, it is not that extravagant. To persist in such hopeless, endless fight, they must be quite insane.

On the other hand, it is gratifying to see that the fames of rebellion I had first ignited had not died out in the midst of oppression and abuse. They’re still there, after all those years, slaves assisting one another in multitude of little, secret ways, united by their plight, from the words of the elf. Ultimately, he manages to convince me to return back to Minrathous with him.

Of course, their headquarters are based right on the outskirts of the city. Not within inner walls, it is far too dangerous and risky, but Minrathous remains the center of civilization, and it brims with rumours and power and strings. Many groups of interest fight for influence and betterment of their fate. My guide turns out to be one of close aides to the leader, and promptly gains his time, and attention. 

He commands the space in the room. A lithe, scarred male with long, braided hair and obvious marks of chain collar on his neck. It must have been there for long, to leave such disfigurement. He clearly shows it off, deliberately attired in a manner exposing, drawing attention to it – and I can see, he takes satisfaction in the way my eyes widen slightly at the sight of it.

I’m introduced by my rather inadequate, by my standards, alias. ‘Vints are rather unimaginative in their naming sense; I work mostly after the nightfall, and no one has a reliable description of me, hence, I’m called Shadow. Well done, colour me so not impressed.

The elf looks at me in plain disbelief.

‘From the circulating rumours, I had expected someone much more impressive’ he states disparagingly. I rise my eyebrow, and eye him critically, before replying nonchalantly,

‘Well, so did I. Alas, we will have to live with our disappointments.’

The People surrounding him bristle at my rather pointed comment. But he just laughs, and the tension dissipates momentarily.

‘I’m named Shartan. Welcome, to the Wings of Freedom.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is for GingerSnaps – I hope I’ve answered your question sufficiently.


	14. Passionate Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ASSUMPTIONS:  
> 1\. Thedas is the sole continent, a whole world of DA.  
> 2\. Original Inquisition timeline is around 8 years, and not 2 years, like it is according to Wiki.

**Passionate **Pride****

I do not walk away with good impression from that first meeting with Shartan, and I think it is quite mutual. I believe him an uncouth, blind savage who cannot appreciate tool freely given. He, from the few remarks that reach my ears, considers me a much overrated, stuck-up skank who likes to wise-ass her superiors.

Never mind that I never acknowledged, in any way whatsoever, his presumed superiority. 

But being a lone wolf can only take me so far before I encounter a danger I will not be able to face head on. And Alarith, my former guide, is right, in that we share a common goal. So with a lot of bite from both sides, we learn to work around each other, trying not to step on one each other’s toes, or preferably, just stay out of the way. Once the routine settles, I pay little attention to the **illustrious** leader, focusing on my tasks instead.   

I find many means to assist the organization, mingling, fitting in, once a slave, another time, a free person. My hair, if bound appropriately, allow me to hide my ears, and since I’m considerably taller than average elven female, and never cower under the scrutinizing looks of others, the ruse is not easily seen through. People see what they expect to see – if one grovels they instinctively position themselves higher in the hierarchy. Never in my life have I bent my knee before anyone, when it wasn’t a ruse to lure them into complacency; and somehow, when I walk with my head held high, it makes others step out of my way. This allows for an enviable freedom of movement, and finally, I manage to see Minrathous properly.

The city is of low-rise, typically two-stories buildings, aside from the central square, where the Magisterium, University Courthouse and Temples to Shemlen gods are placed, but even these are merely three floors high. In comparison, Arlathan spiked upwards seemingly endlessly, slender and ethereal.

The Magisters’ villas surround the square; even Archon has his city residence here, but it is, apparently, less impressive than his outer palace – or so the people claim.

The colouristic of the city is also much different to Arlathan, more caramel and cream shades instead of muted whites and greens. But what ‘Vints truly revel in are gems, of any kind, or their replicas. And that’s why the streets brim in colours; those who can afford them encrust jewels into stone and wood and iron, making it all glitter; and the others use coloured glass to achieve similar mirages and illusions. With the changes of daylight, the surroundings glow in mirage of rainbows, as the stained glass and intricate, jingling trinkets cast elaborate shadows.

It is beautiful, and I steal some time each week to perch up on some roof, appreciate the changing by the hour sights.

Of course, that ostentatious wealth is of the inner town only, the outskirts are mostly dirty slums and dangerous back alleys, very little decoration. It’s a place where people fight for survival, worrying about having enough to eat; in such circumstances, frivolities like ornaments mean very little. Nothing, aside from the resell value, to be exact.

But what I truly love about the city is how it overflows with magic, the Veil thinned by the daily practices of the Magisters. I can breathe deeply here, feel the cling of power against my skin, and it’s just marvellous. This new thing, blood magic, tears into the barrier, forcing spirits into human service, to provide them with more power.

Because that’s what demons are – or at least, were, initially. Spirits. I do not know whether first demons appeared as a result of human actions forcing them across; or whether the initial distortion was a consequence of the Veil’s creation itself. Fen could have known, or found out, with his extensive understanding of their nature; but I was never that knowledgeable about them.

What do I know is that there are many of them, and they’re a treacherous, and somewhat double edged sword to wield.

Apparently, they tempt mages while they sleep; those that fall for the sweet promises can; not necessarily have to, but it’s a distinct possibility; wound up as horrible abominations, their bodies merely hosts for the parasites. During my studies, I come across many different reasonings for that, and none which convince me, nor none which explain why I do not suffer from this particular affliction.

Meanwhile, I manage to earn my place among the Wings, spying, playing messenger, and sometimes even assassin. I am at a loss as to overall purpose or aims they are trying to achieve, but I’m not very high up the food chain. Even if Shartan **finally** , begrudgingly admits, I might not be all talk. I thank him sarcastically for his observation, as we would all, surely, be completely lost without his astute insight. He scowls, as a muted giggles spread among those surrounding us.

As I’ve become a trusted member now, the things I deal with are of more sensitive nature. I journey to the other hideouts, meet with People stationed in other cells in the Empire, in Solas, Carastel, Qarinus and others. We plan a larger scale operations against the slavers and slave rings, trying to squash the core of the deplorable trade.

I use the opportunities travelling brings to reach out to merchants and scholars. My search for understanding leads me to another dead alley, as I pursue the nature of demons. Since they are twisted spirits, it is little wonder they are linked to emotions.

I do not consider it surprising at all, that it is Pride demons that are considered the most powerful and dangerous. Scholars outright warn against them, advise against any deals or bargains.

Pride gives great strength, thus, that’s how they are; and it can tear apart those who falter in their convictions. No, it is not much of a surprise. But why am I not affected? It is what drives me, surely, it ought to interest them?

Finally I come to the conclusion that there’s only one answer for my doubts, and decide to summon the answers for myself. Considering the popularity and universal usage of blood magic, getting a hold on instructions for the appropriate rituals is merely a question of coin for the instructions, and not a problem otherwise.

I consider all aspects carefully, before settling on summoning a Desire demon. Any lesser demon, like a shade, would not guarantee any answers, as their intelligence is dubious. They’re rather mindless, according to my findings. It is quite tempting to try summoning my namesake, but I’m new at this, and would rather not pay for my undue cockiness. I feel quite confident about being able to resist Desire in particular, after my experiences. I wouldn’t dare summon Nightmare or any of his ilk anytime soon, for example, while Arlathan still burns in my dreams.

At first I was a bit worried my disability might have prevented me from using this magic, but the most basic rituals all require the runes to be laid down on stone. The more advanced and flexible ones, more commonly used, require the usual weaving of power, and would be quite beyond me. As I have no intentions of practicing it on a daily basis, on battlefield or elsewhere, I’m not very disappointed.

I carefully draw the runes on the floor, and uncertainly, reach to the power, cutting the skin on my wrist, and focusing on desire. Not hard to recall, as Fen’s touch comes to mind, and the many shameful scenarios I played in my mind while held by June. The shadows in the room intensify, and I can feel the keen interest from the spot over my pentagram, where the droplets of blood start swirling. Darkness gathers around them, sharpens around the edges, and in a sudden burst of power, a beautiful male demon appears.

I take a moment to analyse his slender features, and the strange black wings sprouting from his back. They’re bat-like, and seem too small to actually support his flight, but I’ve no doubts they’re sufficient for his needs. He is as attractive as I would expect for someone who is supposed to embody desire, a true feat for eyes, with a fiendish note to it.

I’m recalled from my inspection when he groans in irritation, clearly disgruntled.

‘Of all the… My luck is atrocious, to be caught in the net of one like you, who has only academic interests. I suppose you would like to stick me in a cage, and poke experimentally for the next ten years?’

Oh, what an interesting idea! I consider it seriously for a moment, before discarding it, with a touch of regret. While finding more on demonic nature would be quite an experiment, the world is moving faster now than it used to, and I can’t risk wasting that much time. I might catch attention of one as dangerous as Corypheous, again.  

‘I’ve something I desire from you.’

‘Sure you do’ he snorts in irritation. ‘Listen, elf, we can feel you pathetic mortals’ emotions, and they tell me perfectly clearly, there’s nothing I can offer you.’

I did **not** know that. Though, considering spirits could do that, there’s no reason why demons can’t, too. My fact association and logical thinking appear somewhat impaired, as of late, I really should straighten up.

‘I just need you to answer me two questions, and I promise, I’ll let you go, find another prey.’ I offer, trying my best to be convincing.

Desire perks up, and urges me on impatiently,

‘Well then?’

‘Why I remain undisturbed during my sleep?’

‘Because we don’t do charity!’ He snorts derisively. ‘Your desires run deep, that is true, but you keep your pride around you like a shield, and you wouldn’t deign yourself to any bargains that might in any way compromise it. You could be a demon yourself, with how strong and deep it runs, right to your core.’ There’s a begrudging respect in his voice.

‘So that means I cannot really wield the blood magic, can I?’ I muse out loud, but he takes it as a second question, and replies immediately,

‘Not like others, you can’t. The mages who reach to it hold up themselves as bait, but you, all of my kind will avoid. Why waste time on impossible, when there are plenty gullible fools out there?’ After a moment, he adds reluctantly, ‘You can of course use summoning, like with me. But you would have to use a lot of your own mana to make me do your bidding, and that kind of defeats the purpose, doesn’t it?’

I know the demon is only as helpful as he is because he wishes to be gone as soon as possible. I can guess there are things he withholds from me; not to mention, he likely overstates the effort it would take to force him under my control. But he had answered my questions comprehensively; my curiosity is sated, and I do not back down on a deal, even with one of his kind. My pride, again.

With a light flick of a hand I distort the magic of the pentagram, and the last thing I see is a devious glint in his yellow eyes, before he vanishes into a cloud of darkness, which also quickly disperses.

Huh. So I’m too proud to deal with them, and they can feel it from me, so they don’t even bother. Interesting.

Of course, it is not a fool proof safety measure, I know, if I ever fall as low as during that night in Arlathan, I might be in danger. It is rather fortunate there were no demons then, yet. But I rather hope I’ve wizened up since the time, and I doubt I’ll forsake my pride ever again, even in the direst of circumstances.  

With that particular concern finally answered, I focus more of my attention on the slave freedom movement I’ve engaged in. With some indignation, I discover the general lack of self-defence skills among the members of the organization. Most of their former masters did not see the necessity, preferred it in fact, if their toys and close servants posed no threat. The magisters and nobles employ skilled guards for protecting their property and persons. It is a respectable retirement option for former professional soldiers.

I can understand that Wings of Freedom members’ previous lives did not allow much chance for acquiring these skills, but it has changed since then, for goodness sake! But a tenth of them is suitable for the task force, when we arrange the raids – and barely any female among them. I grit my teeth, as it is the females that are most in need of the defensive techniques.

I badger Shartan about that until he relents, and allows me to host lessons, for any and all who wish to attend. I am not surprised to find most of the people from the headquarters gathered, on the first day of the training.

The overwhelmingly enthusiastic response forces me to work closely with Shartan, as he is one of the better trained people around, and subsequently, one of the very few teachers available. He changes his mind regarding the issue, and earnestly takes care of the arrangement of a schedule that would allow everyone to participate. With time, we rotate some of the trainers to other hideouts as well, and slowly but surely, the overall prowess rises.

I change my opinion of him to a slightly more favourable one, after that. He is, at the very least, capable of admitting his mistakes, ad rectifying them – not a bad trait in a leader.

I find out some of his rather bleak history, too. Not that I inquire about it, but the others share it freely, and whether I want or not, it’s there for me to listen. They’re rather proud of him.

Shartan was born to an unassuming slave family in one of the large estates belonging to one of the members of the Magisterium. From his early childhood, he was a contrary, and wilful slave, until his master grew fed up with him, and sold him to a battle ring.

Battle rings are a relatively recent fad in the empire, where slaves are forced to fight against one another, or wild beasts, sometimes even demons, for their lives; while the freemen bet on the results. A popular pastime for the bored with too much coin, or the poor with too much free time.  

Shartan was barely fifteen, and the stakes were against him, but his determination was like no other. With his miraculous, lucky win he had secured his new owner a fortune. Though he barely survived the ordeal, the man who owed him saw him as a possible gold mine, and went extra mile to ensure Shartan regained top form.

He was granted a proper training afterwards, and reigned undefeated on the Rings, ominously titled Beast. His master took pleasure in collaring him to add to the savage image of his slave, right until Shartan had torn him to pieces, and fled.

He returned to Minrathous a few years later, with some of his first subordinates in tow, and started Wings of Freedom. They all share similar stories, those oldest members, mostly runaways, some of them freed by Shartan’s hand before they had their first master, others more experienced by life. His legend soon grew, and now, even slaves who never met him have begun placing their hopes on him.

Although I understand where he and his barely leashed, always close to the surface anger come from a bit better now; it does not mean our cooperation is smooth riding, by any means. Being in close quarters often, puts a strain on both of our strong personalities. With Fen, we complimented each other, but Shartan just rubs me the wrong way, so much that my typically more restrained tongue loosens.

One day, picking a fight with him, I criticize the lifestyle the Wings had taken on, and the hovels we dwell in.

‘Take some pride in the freedom you’ve earned!’ I throw in his face. ‘There’s no need to live like a fucking rats, squatting together! Let’s make something more of ourselves, and our surroundings!’

He rejects both my criticism, and my pride in stride, not even looking my way as he proceeds to instruct one of the newer members on her fighting stance. He is interested in practicality and his goals, first and foremost, and does not understand what pride has anything to do with it.

The other members are already used to our heated exchanges, so they proceed with their usual exercises, even as I literally seethe in rage.

‘You are still a slave, deep inside, even with the chains gone from your neck. Unable to see yourself as anything but a tool, you treat others in similar manner’ I detest being ignored in such manner, and that makes me more forthright than I initially intended. ‘Your people deserve better than that, even if you can’t learn to appreciate yourself.’

Ok, so that might have been a bit too close to home, from the way he suddenly freezes, and glares my way. I got him good, this time. But he bites his tongue, clearly, and grunts, before proceeding with the training as if nothing happened, and I do the same quickly enough, regretting my wagging tongue and cringing internally in procrastination.

But those are my honest feelings, even if the delivery leaves a lot to be desired; and so, I do not apologize for them. I pity him, he can’t even see he deserves better than that. That he should strive for more than bare necessities, and find pleasures in life.

Something changes between us after that passionate outburst of mine, though I do not realize it, at the beginning. At first I do not understand why Shartan seeks my presence, draws me into moral arguments and disputes. We strongly disagree on many issues, he is much more unrelenting and ruthless than me. Shartan believes the system and people of Tevinter are irredeemable, and only through blood and steel will the elves, and other slaves, ever have a shot at true freedom.

I do not dismiss all of the magisters out of hand as inherently evil, nor do I feel the empire’s citizens are so rotten. Take my former master, Erasthenes; while he was undoubtedly self-centred, disregarding of my will, there was no malice in his actions. He simply didn’t see me as anything else than a commodity which happened to draw breath.

If we are to ever conquer slavery, it is that outlook that must change, I argue. The ‘Vints must see all as living beings, not necessarily equal, because that is an impossible utopia, but of certain worth, enough to deserve their own choices in life. Even in part of my life on Earth, there are those who, by accident of birth, have a better standing and better chances in life. I honestly admit that I count among that number, born with a relatively well-off family in a peaceful country. But that does not make all those who start lower worthless; or their efforts, which often achieve less, simply by necessity of spending more time tending to their essential needs; meaningless.

During a particularly heated exchange on the issue, we come to blows. It is a glorious fight, when I use all of the tricks up my sleeve versus his vastly superior experience with many types of adversaries. The tempo of it is staggering, and exhilarating, as for a first time in ages I meet a worthy adversary, capable of keeping up in my speed – even if not in movement, he more than makes up for his slowness with anticipation of my actions. I lose, of course; he has spent his entire life doing what for me is merely an unwelcome, rare occurrence; but I manage to get in a few decent strikes, before ending pinned against the floor by his firm body.

‘Yield’ he growls, caging my wrists in a vice-like grip, his deep voice rumbling next to my ear. I feel a sudden flush, assaulted by unexpected awareness of his masculinity. Desire sparks between us, I can see the same intensity radiating in his eyes, and my breath hitches, as I escape with my gaze replying quickly,

‘I yield’ and push him off myself immediately after the pressure on my wrists lessens. We pick ourselves up, and I try to cover for my flustered arousal, dusting off my practice outfit; waiting for the heat to recede from my cheeks. Stealing a covert glance, I see from the mischievous smirk playing on his lips as he had, obviously, caught onto the effect his proximity had on me, and curse internally his animalistic magnetism to seven hells.

There’s no way it was a coincidence, and looking at the events carefully, Shartan must have been aware of the underlying tension between us for a while already. I suppose I would have been, too, if not for the fact I had not been interested in anyone in **that** way for… decades, already. I suppose he must have gotten impatient with my obliviousness, and decided to manipulate events in his favour.

Now that I watch for it, it’s clear as day that Shartan gives me much more leeway and considers my opinions much more than of an average member. He consults with me on our next actions, even if it’s in a form of a quarrel, and not official counsel-seeking. I had unwittingly, unofficially, assumed a role of his second, and Alarith allowed it without as much as a word. He easily let himself be pushed lower in the hierarchy, and I hadn’t even **realized**. Oh, Creators, just how blind can I be?

Once I become aware of it, though, I try to keep my distance. Someone like me, who hardly experienced any real hardships in her life, always in some way privileged and shielded, and a broken up, former slave with a lot of unresolved baggage on his shoulders? A recipe for disaster, if there ever was one.

And let’s not forget Fen, who is still a very prominent – major - part of my heart.

But Shartan has very different idea than me, and does not allow me to simply sweep the hunger between us under the rug. I use as many methods as I can think of to reject him, starting by pointing out our much different origins, subtly and less subtly informing him of Fen’s existence and meaning in my life, and more or less indicating all the reasons why it’s a fucking terrible idea.

But he is like a dog after a bone, aware that I’m not indifferent to him – once I try lying about that, he just laughs in my face – slowly, yet steadily, wearing down my defences.

The evening does not differ from many others, after a rather stressful action on the downtown slave market people settle in for the night. I’ve already oiled my leather armour, and apply finishing touches on the throwing knives which lost some of their sharpness during the frequent usage. It’s a skill I picked up only recently, but a useful one, since my magic does not have any reliable options to strike from the distance. Shartan joins me, and stays quiet for a while, observing my sure movement. I can feel a tingle of my nerves, caused by his mere presence, but proceed to ignore him, focusing my attention on the task at hand.

 ‘You claim that as long as they do not prove you otherwise, all people, be they human or elves, slaves or freeman, deserve chance in life’ he says suddenly, interrupting my pace. I lift my head, looking at him in guarded confusion.

‘Yes…?’ I reply hesitantly, wondering where is the point of quoting my sentence from long ago, spoken in some magisters’ defence; at this particular moment.

‘And yet, I feel that you hold yourself above us, there’s this… insurmountable distance, when you do not allow anyone truly **close**.’  He continues prodding, and my eyes flash in irritation at the sultry tone entering the last of his words.

Still, I analyse his opinion seriously, pursing my lips – is it truly what I do? Have I become a hypocrite, somewhere along the way, holding myself superior against those I feel most kinship with in this fallen world?

Once I turn back, from the patient look in his eyes I see he is not finished.

‘Is a chance too much to ask?’

I look to him in disbelief, at the glee in his victorious smile, as he throws my own words back in my face, knowing he had already won.

Hook, line, and sinker. And fuck common sense.

I cannot help laughing, charmed in spite of myself – the man is really impossible to resist. A person with an ounce of self-respect would have choked on these words; comparing oneself to his worst enemies; Shartan suffers from no such inhibitions.

He has enough self-restraint to not gloat too much when my laugh quiets down, and I allow him to take my hand, and lead me to his bedroom. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for StValentine. I’m always waiting for your comment, as I know for sure, yours is definitely coming.  
> and for Professionalatfangirling - you don't know how much joy your words have brought me. Thank you for enjoying it as much as you did.


	15. Sanguine Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ASSUMPTIONS:  
> 1\. Thedas is the sole continent, a whole world of DA.  
> 2\. Original Inquisition timeline is around 8 years, and not 2 years, like it is according to Wiki.

**Sanguine Pride**

I expect it to blow over, once the brunt of desire is gone, I am prepared for the things to return to how they were between us before... Well. My moment of weakness, if I’m perfectly honest. It is only lust, only challenge, only defiance tying us together, and none of these are a reliable foundation to build anything long lasting on.

Only it doesn’t.

 **Inexplicably** , to my utter astonishment, I find myself in a more or less stable relationship, with the least expected person. A person who is so ill suited for me, I would have to search far and wide to find anyone worse.

We easily, naturally, fall back to the tried patterns, arguing and fighting about almost everything, with no less conviction than before; only now, a touch of warmth enters these exchanges. Nothing changes in that regard, and I still think him a piss poor leader who barely can take care of himself, and he still thinks I’m way over my head, and insufferably snobbish. Maybe, only, we stop questioning the sanity of each other **quite** as often.

When the frustration spills over, we take it out on training grounds, until both of us are panting, laughing from adrenaline overdose. We pull no punches, do not restrain our strengths, and I’m in a better condition than ever before, even though the bone in my left leg remains as twisted as ever. I enjoy these confrontations, and even more, the making up afterwards.

I do not tell him of my experiences, and he does not ask. It is one of the things I really value about him; he allows me to leave my past where it belongs, and expects me not to question his, as well. And aside from the shallow jabs at his servile tendencies, I don’t.

Of course, he is not Fen, and I do not love him, not exactly. I come to care for him, certainly, and appreciate him for what he is, but there are a few significant issues I have with him that make me pity him, secretly, and that makes love impossible. At least, for me. My own failing, coming from my kind of pride, which I admit only before myself. He would hate it, and I carefully guard that knowledge from him.

Ultimately, Shartan isn’t proud. He tries, attempts to be – not in the least because he knows that’s what I value most in others. But there’s no pride without a sense of self-worth, and he never quite learns, acquires, that. There are things he wants, and he can be downright mule headed about that, like in the case with me; but he never feels like he truly deserves them. His confidence is a pose, a front, he is forever a thief, a swindler in his own mind, snatching bits of happiness.

I always could see right through him, when it came to that. I guess that’s what attracted him to me in the first place.

There’s also no pride in senselessly rejecting wisdom, it’s just senseless arrogance. There are times when wisdom has to bow down before pride, or the other way round, depending on priorities. It had happened, during my life, a few times, when I was protecting my honour and integrity, choosing them over the more reasonable solutions; but in most cases, they go hand in hand. And Shartan just doesn’t get that, and in his effort, he is, instead, merely stubborn and pretentious.

And I do not mean that he ought to take my words at face value, listen to them unquestioningly, and because he doesn’t, I consider him short-sighted. No, Shartan doesn’t even check, doesn’t try to find, the arguments of the other side, he suffers from a hard, no, nigh insurmountable, case of tunnel vision.

I guess it is all somewhat related to the fact that he doesn’t comprehend my values, which for me, are more natural than breathing. In his fumbling, he tries to imitate me, and that always, always ends up badly, as he doesn’t get where I’m coming from. And sometimes, he simply gets angry, both with himself and me, and those are the bad days, when both of us leave seething and hurting.

As I mentioned, a recipe for disaster, the two of us. But it works, for the time being, and I’ll enjoy it as long as it lasts. Though there are days when I desperately miss Fen, the soul-deep understanding between us.

Shartan is so unlike my beloved wolf, that the contrast is, at times, staggering. Fen always tried to consider the why’s and how’s, and the pride was just as ingrained in him as it is in me. It was the first bridge between us, as he understood, completely, my nature.

But there are also other differences between the two of them.

Where Fen’Harel avoided responsibility, authority over others until it was practically thrust into his arms, until his pride would not allow him to deny it any longer – Shartan had actively sought it out. It gave him, I guess, a degree of certainty, a feeling of control which he needed after his long years in slavery.     

No matter his motivations, his causes, aims, are just, and worthy striving for. It makes no difference what satisfaction he derives from going after them, what need of his they fulfil.

I do not condemn him for that.

While not admirable, the flaws in our characters are what makes us **us** , and we care for one another not only in spite of them, but also, because of them. So I care for Shartan knowing all that about him.

Certainly, I’m not devoid of my own, very distinct, flaws. My pride borders arrogance, it always did, and I reach to manipulation and deceit before honesty and trust. I detest crowds, people in large quantities, or for extended length of time, preferring solitude. I have this strange, unreasonable conviction I ought to be able take the world on my own, and feel desolate each time I, invariably, fail. And there’s my tendency to moralize, when I try to impart my moral ground on others, which tends to drive Shartan spare.

Really, what right do I have to judge him?

But even if I don’t have such right, I attempt to curb down his sadistic tendencies, because Shartan stops at nothing to achieve his goals, and tends to go overboard when he believes his actions justified. Which is most of the time. I am not a bleeding soul, and I understand the concept of unavoidable casualties, but only when they are exactly that - unavoidable.

I know that plenty of the people involved are actually right scumbags, who, even if unrelated to our operations, deserve the hurt for other reasons. The humanity is very morally and emotionally challenged, both here and, from what I remember, on Earth. Still, I do not like leaving too many bodies behind, and it is enough of a motivation to argue with Shartan till my throat runs dry.

Of course, there are also practical considerations, and that’s the main reason why I manage to convince him to see my way, from time to time. Mainly the fact that if the Wings of Freedom became too indiscriminate in their actions, it might cause enough public outrage to force Archon’s hand to deal with us. As long as he can pretend we do not exist, Hessarian is content to leave us alone.

Regardless of our ambitions otherwise, no one is delusional enough to believe we could survive his intervention.

It takes a whole lot of persuading, but I manage to get Shartan to reach out to the more liberal minded Magisters, and things are on the rise. The main thing working in my favour during our arguments is that there’s little to lose should our endeavour fail, and the initiative itself takes little of our resources.

After some time – years of hard work and digging and convincing and bribing - we manage to sway more and more people to our cause. While freeing the formerly captured slaves is still leagues away from being under discussion, the idea that perhaps no new people should be caught is starting to take root in Magisterium. I consider it a major success, and begin feeling hopeful.

And then, a news of an Alamarri army gathering on the Empire’s southern border sweep through the empire.

The nobles, Magisterium, and Archon, are all dismissive of it. The barbarians had been restless many times before, and always lost their impetus on the fortifications and garrisons, never achieving much success, posing any serious threat to the heart of the Empire. They are quite confident that this time, it will be no different.

But the common people of the Imperium feel that this is not the usual invasion, and are feeling restless.

The Wings are much better orientated in the reality of things, as some of the people we had saved belonged to the southern clans, and continue to share the information with us of the events there; freely and out of gratitude.

The clouds are gathering on the horizon, and a storm unlike any other is coming.

They say there’s a prophet leading the army. A Bride of the Maker, they call her, planning to wage a holy war against the Empire and its corrupt gods and system. There are many postulates there, and one of them, to my dread, and utter despair, is  freedom to the enslaved.

I beg, plead with Shartan, not to go. To not commit the Wings to such lofty, uncertain cause as a rebellion in the name of unknown, new god. That nothing will be achieved, that we will pay in blood and tears for an illusion.

But Shartan is impatient, and at heart, a restless spirit. Better suited to a grandstanding gestures than years of patient groundwork, of uncertain outcome. He is convinced that this is the chance, the hope the slaves were waiting for, elves especially, and when he tires of listening to me, he asks,

‘Are you  coming with me, or not?’

It is so very tempting to say no. I feel, deep inside, that this will destroy all the hard work over the years, that the consequences of this war will be both far-reaching, and terrible. But I cannot abandon him merely on the basis of my instincts, my pride tells me to stand by him, whether he prevails, or falls. He has earned my loyalty, and my affection, even if I believe he is making a large mistake.

Instead of answering, I put my hand in his, and look him in the eyes seriously, even as he grins triumphantly. He knows it does not mean I agree with him, but that I’m accompanying him in spite of it, and somehow, that’s even more important to him than if I agreed with him.

He issues a rallying call, and many more than just Wings answer. Because he is Shartan, and he has been the hope for all of the People in chains, they risk everything, and come.

The Andrastian army welcomes us with open arms, well aware that they need every able arm in their ranks. Shartan is soon included among the leadership, while I easily slide into the shadows, content to remain out of limelight and hard choices I don’t want to be making, nor have any expertise with. And then, plans stop being merely plans, and we march out.

I am uncertain, at first, what to think of Andraste herself. There are no questions about her being an incredibly charismatic woman, with a truly angelic voice, capable of moving and influencing masses. I also know, from listening to her speak with passion and conviction, that she truly believes, that she has been blessed.

Bu I have my doubts regarding her deity.

Even if the progress our patched up, ragtag army makes is astounding. It’s a miracle, wheels within wheels turning to our advantage. It makes me stop, and consider, just how powerful is this new spirit which took place of the absent Evanuris, to be able to choose the moment of his revelation so accurately – because, no matter what his faithful claim, I reject the possibility of him being one of the Creators. Along with it, I reject the supposition of his existence since the beginning of time. And, if he isn’t one of them, then just as surely, his powers are limited, and attributing all of the beneficial events leading to our success to him is… Ludicrous.

He simply chose the impeccable moment and a charismatic, mesmerizing even, prophet for spreading his influence.

And both are truly perfectly chosen.

The Imperium was weakened after a Blight, sorely, both economically and militarily. I do not know what this plague of undead is, as I have missed it entirely. I am, however, highly sceptical towards the explanation Andraste provides. Attributing the Blight to the wrath of Maker at the Magisters is just… Well. It is not **entirely** inconceivable; he could be responsible for that, as Evanuris were capable of creating such things, both terrifying and powerful. But. If he is like the Elvhen gods from the past, from their days of glory, why there are no other amazing miracles to prove his superiority?

But faith listens to no reason, and they do not, cannot see it, as I do; I have vastly more experience and intricate knowledge on these issues than any of the Shems.

 I would guess he is incapable of traversing beyond the Veil, which is why he resorts to visions and other, ethereal, forms of inspiration. Taking into consideration the fact that he seeks followers, like the Evanuris did, leads me to the conclusion that he must also somehow gain in power with the increase of the prayers sent his way – which in turn indicates a certain similarity of his nature to them.

I do not share these speculations with anyone else. There is no point in doing so – Shartan and his elves are already sceptical, and I don’t begrudge humans their god – because, quite possibly, he is a gift from the Creators, made, created, specifically for their sake. Even if he seems a bit on the cruel side, the Evanuris were no better.  

If there’s one thing I’m glad about, it’s that Shartan does not follow the ways of the Maker, so ardently preached by Andraste and her disciples. Nor does he seem inclined to change his mind. What annoys me, however, are his misguided, misinterpreted, beliefs, towards the Evanuris, and his praise of them without reason. I seek to explain it to him, set his misunderstandings straight, but he never listens. He just gazes at me with this extremely annoying patronyms, and says, you have your faith, and I have mine.

I leave with a huff, throwing my hands in the air in exasperation.

With time, I see more flaws in Andraste, and my indifference to her turns into loathing. The largest, and most obvious one, is her hypocrisy, though it appears I’m the only one who sees through it clearly. the others are too enamoured, enthralled with her. She preaches of the Maker’s mercy with the same lips with which she commands her army.

In spite of the loftiness, and grandiose, we are at war, and in the middle of slave rebellion. Pretending otherwise does not make the streets less bathed in blood, innocents on our way any less dead. I know, because I am one of the scouts, which leaves me a considerable freedom of movement. The fact that our warriors kill with the Makers name on their lips does not make them any less savage, less prone to rape and plunder and robbery and murder. We leave ruins in our wake, and those who do not submit, and sometimes those who merely are not given enough time to submit, pay with their lives. Those that do are only deprived of their life necessities, in the name of the greater good.

I hate war. I grimly fulfil my duties, praying that the carnage will be worth it, in the end, that it will indeed mean the freedom of Elvenkind, that Shartan’s prayers will be answered. Because if not… If not, then I put my hand to a devastation of yet another civilization, all for nothing.

My heart wrings and weeps at the thought, as I watch the Tevinter gems smashed on the ground, the colourful trinkets meaningless in the face of death and destruction. All the beauty and art, shattered and devastated and gone. Lost. Will the Empire ever regain any of its former lustre, after this… desecration?

Elvhenan did not.   

They call us Exalted March, and sing hymns as they march. I call us a Crimson Rebellion, and despondently observe the blood squirting under our boots. Yes, the Tevinter Empire is responsible for many tragedies, but it has little to do with most of its citizens, and in spite of the grand words, this is whom we mostly fell. The Imperial Army was routed long ago, or has retreated to the capital, and yet there are new corpses left behind us every day.

There are other, less serious things which I dislike about Andraste. Like her flightiness. She has her loyal, brave husband in Maferath – and I admire the old bear with my whole heart, even as I partially blame him for the war itself – but her eyes stray to others, shamelessly. She doesn’t hide the fact she considers Maker as her first and foremost partner, above Maferath, and considering what I know of Evanuris, I suspect it can be taken quite literally. She watches Shartan, too, among others, with undeniable interest.

Shartan, is also fascinated by the Shemlen prophet, and openly admits as much. I shrug neutrally, telling him I do not mind, and am slightly surprised by the hurt look in his eyes, and taken aback when he huffs in irritation and leaves me to my forlorn musings.

Really, what did he expect? Jealousy?

He is colder to me afterwards, but truth to be told, I welcome it. I find it hard to be with him, to share warmth and pleasure, with the shadows of the dead looming over us.

I feel so cold, so unbelievably cold, and seek my memories with Fen to comfort me. There used to be a time when I was so worriless, my soul was so light and unburdened. And my heart was beside me, to guide me, help me find light in the darkness.

But whenever I’m waken from my reverie, from my imagination, the grim reality surrounding me is that my beloved is asleep in his cove, and I’m alone, lost, misplaced. And my hands are stained with blood, so much blood… am I even worthy of his affections anymore, me, who assisted in the many terrible deeds?

Shartan doesn’t understand my progressing depression. He is completely unmoved by the tragedy around us, as these are not our people, after all, and he has only the end goal in his sight. I am once again struck by the vast differences between us, only now, they seem unmanageable. Even more so than before, when I tried resisting his allure. And for the first time, I honestly disdain him, instead of merely pitying his lack of empathy and understanding.

He has never seen the Empire’s beauty and worth as I did, nor did he actually believe in any of my words. I mourn its passing, as I once mourned Arlathan, because there are things worth preserving, which we could destroy forever. But just as Shartan sees no worth in himself, he doesn’t see it anywhere else.

It is not only Tevinter that haunts me, in my dreams, it mixes with Arlathan, and both burn, both are irredeemably ruined. My guilt chokes me, and I lose my breath, and fight against the river of tears. So many lost, meaninglessly.

But I refuse to crumble beneath this pressure. Really, what is left for me, what worth do I have left? Pride, only my pride. Without it, I’m nothing.

I’ll not shrink away from my share of responsibility, from where my choices had led me. And so, I watch with growing detachment the atrocities committed in the name of Enlightenment and Freedom. I do not turn my eyes from the cruelty and pain abound, reminding myself, you also have a part in this, Fean’Na. Don’t you dare look away. My heart slowly barricades itself from the world behind a wall of ice, and I learn indifference anew, again, after the Arlathan. It is a matter of self-preservation – I’ll go crazy if I feel anymore.

Understandably, it only bolsters the estrangement between me and Shartan. Our passion is a thing of a past, and I am not surprised to realize one day that he found companionship elsewhere.

Though, I’m astonished by the person with whom he had strayed. Andraste.

What is even more shocking is that he doesn’t end things with me; officially, we are still together, sharing tent; and a pair in the eyes of the others. I do not understand why is that, but I cannot bring myself to care.

I know only one thing – if Andraste had it her way, it would have been otherwise. From the glares she sends my way, I can easily discern her hate. Why? She is with Shartan now, in all but name, and really, considering her marital status, she ought to be glad I do not mind providing a front for her. Yet she still seethes and rages, and I find myself slightly bewildered by that.

In the midst of all the incomprehensible drama, we finally reach the outer gates of Minrathous. 

After a year of heavy fighting, I'm back to my cherished town, breathing with magic and glittering with colour.

I'm back with an army seeking to destroy it. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is dedicated for zimafreak an kayaite; who both wondered, alas, no, my friends, I’ve decided to keep Andraste as she was.  
> Also, word of thanks for Magdalena. Do not worry about your English, it is quite clear and understandable, and smoothness and polish all come with practice. Thank you for the courage to write your opinion in spite of your discomfort with your proficiency.  
> micizzle headcannons Solas as Shartan, but from what we know of both of them, it’s seems a bit far-fetched, and I never saw the connection there.


	16. Faithless Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ASSUMPTIONS:  
> 1\. Thedas is the sole continent, a whole world of DA.  
> 2\. Original Inquisition timeline is around 8 years, and not 2 years, like it is according to Wiki.

**Faithless Pride**

The walls of the largest city in Thedas stop the triumphant progression of our forces. We’ve no means to tackle them, no war machines to create a breach; the barbarians are not very apt in the matters of warfare, and considered dragging them this whole way a waste of time and resources. Now, we pay for this complacency, when the usual attempt at simply overrunning them with numbers doesn’t work, and we bounce off the defences; having lost considerable numbers, and not achieved much of anything.

In their defence, I’m forced to admit; there’s a considerable chance that even had we dragged the catapults with us, the damage dealt would be insignificant. Certainly not worth prolonging the journey for twice as long, allowing the defenders to be even better prepared.

Siege it is, then.

It is a lazy affair, when we are trying to drive our opponents to exhaustion and surrender. The frequent, fake attempts to scale the walls, and the few real ones, to keep them guessing, and days and days of doing little to nothing at all. And so it drags, on and on.

Inaction drives me spare, as I feel a desperate need to exhaust myself, and kill the wandering thoughts, sleep through the nightmares. A scout is very much useless when there’s no scouting to be done. I take to traversing the camp from one its end to another, which takes a few hours, as it spreads all around the outer walls of Minrathous. One evening, when I’m on the prowl, I come by a familiar figure, bent over a table in a mess tent in a particularly pathetic way. I’m unable to ignore him; even for my frozen heart, the sight is pitiful.            

‘Maferath’ I greet him. He’s drunk. Very, very drunk, and not in a happy way – the frown and grim lines on his face and slumped shoulders tell the whole, miserable, story.

‘Fea…’ he slurs back; as if unable to fully pronounce my overly complicated, for his inebriated state, name; with an awkward wave of his hand for me to join him.

I ponder on that for a moment. It wouldn’t be appropriate, for anyone to see us together. Maferath is already facing a lot of – undeserved, in my opinion – scorn, whenever he tries, attempts to curb the more ludicrous ideas of Andraste’s. They call him **faithless** for that, whispering unfavourable slanders behind his back, and challenging him right to his face.

I think he is trying to keep all of us alive. The only one sane, among the bunch of crazed religious devouts. Somehow, people manage to overlook that the woman, no matter how blessed, has no military training whatsoever. They forget that it has always been him behind her back, correcting mistakes, straightening out wrong decisions; always ready to back her up, cover for her inability.

His task has grown heavier as of late; the further Andraste slips into her zealotry, and the more people begin calling her the Maker’s Bride – the less logic rules over the leadership of the rebellion. The less she remembers that she actually needs him, that without him, this whole thing would have fallen apart.

So, no. I’m not overly surprised to see him drowning his worries into oblivion. I’m only glad that Shartan doesn’t go against him, like the others do, though even that is not related to his convictions, I suspect, but rather his guilt.

‘This cannot go on’ he says with surprising coherence, when I plop down next to him, because screw propriety, and take a sip from an offered mug. The wine is heavy and sweet, and easily gets to my head.

‘What can’t go on?’

‘This… war. The way things are going, it’s going to be a **mutual** annihilation. We had used the opportunity provided by the Blight to strike against the empire, at its weakest but’ he gulps down more of the alcohol, and I follow his example  ‘the famine spreads. We have managed to **barely** feed the army until now through plunder and what we were given by the converts, but even that will begin to run out, the longer the siege lasts. If this goes on for much longer…’

The picture he is painting isn’t pretty, but I cannot deny the truth of his words – I’ve seen it for myself. This is the second season when no crops were harvested in the war wrought Tevinter, and the Southern lands are not only too far, but also too poor, for an upkeep of a force this large.

‘Can’t you talk to Andraste?’ I ask, hopelessly.

‘Ha! Andraste!’ he snorts, with a distinct bitterness to the laugh. ‘My wife wants to burn Minrathous to the ground, and then salt down the soil, in the name of her god – and revenge. She and her disciples are convinced that armies can march and fight by the virtue of faith alone. Even Cathaire, who should know better, does not **listen**.’

I fall silent, unable to offer him any more advice, as I also see no solution for the situation. I allow him to refill my mug, and we spend the remainder of the evening in gloomy silence, killing our coherence thoroughly, because the reality is too grim to face; so let us forget about it, for a moment.

We find our understanding after that, me and Maferath. I do not know why he had trusted me with his problems; I guess he is much more observant than I gave him credit for. He implies once, that he is aware of my adverse attitude towards the war itself, and doesn’t hold it against me; though he hopes I understand his motivations for beginning it.

And I do, really. Tevinter has been a constant shadow over the Southern nations for ages, a sleeping giant who could wake at any minute, and crush them. Is it really any wonder that once an opportunity presented itself, once it was impaired, fragile, they used it to strike? It is not only a religious war, after all, no matter what Andraste believes, it is also a pre-emptive blow; at least for the clan leaders. I do not like this reality, but it is there, nonetheless.

We become frequent drinking partners, whenever our two significant others spend quality time with one another. Maferath remarks on it bitterly, some weeks later,

‘Seeing as you are here, I guess the damned elf must be accompanying my wife.’

‘You know.’ For some reason, I am surprised. I had thought him oblivious, he certainly behaves that way. Then again, it might be the only way for him to save some face, seeing as he has no intentions of splitting with Andraste, and cannot afford to challenge Shartan.

I find it hilarious, sometimes – when I’m not irritated - that there are more rumours about me and Maferath than there are about those two. Speculations about our friendship can be heard from every corner, even though we do not hide our rapport, always chaperoned by curious eyes of soldiers in public places. Andraste is much more careless, and yet, somehow, barely a whisper can be heard concerning her and Shartan. Maybe people do not like to see the flawed humanity in her, maybe it is easier to believe her holy and without reproof.

It’s still unbelievably unfair.

‘How could I not? I saw the way she watched him, ever since you have joined us on our little’ a sardonic smile ‘tour.’

I laugh, so bitterly, I nearly choke on tears. Indeed, we’ve been through entire Empire… and left it vandalized. In shambles.

He continues, heedlessly, or maybe compassionately overlooking my temporary breakdown:

‘As if betraying me with her deity wasn’t enough, now she cheats on me in reality as well.’ He sighs, but it is with resignation, and weariness, not much of anger. Maferath had clearly become used to this fact, even if it still stings, still hurts. He turns to me, saying,

‘You are surprisingly calm about all this, Fea.’

That would be my line, friend.

‘Weren’t you and the elf…?’ He trails off, leaving the sentence hanging.

‘We gave each other no promises, and I’m neither Shartan’s keeper, nor his mother.’I shrug, not bothering to pretend I care. It is much different for him than for me, my heart does not wound me every day, since he sleeps, safely away from the world’s decline.

‘Very wise of you. Promises always get broken, one day’ he says despondently.

Don’t I know it, my friend. My whole life is built on unspoken promises and reassurances, which I couldn’t, or wouldn’t, keep, fulfil. Which is why I never said them out loud, because then, I would have to feel even more guilty than I already did. Yet even with all my caution, there were disappointed expectations. This… thing with Shartan, is only the latest of my many failures.

We get very drunk that evening, enough so that Maferath’s inhibitions are gone, and by the time we are readying ourselves to depart, he is really pouring out his frustration unreservedly. I’m less gone than he is, enough to reject his offer on cheating on Andraste and Shartan ourselves. He says that people are already talking, so it’s not like it can get any worse for him, and he might at the very least get some satisfaction from it.

‘Mafferrath, if we ever sleep together, I want it to happen beecause both of us arre attracted to one another, and not as a rr… revenge’ I am somewhat mispronouncing and stuttering, but I convey my meaning. ‘My pr… ide would not stand being used like t…that.’ I feel a bit offended that he offered, amidst the haze.

‘Hoow do you knooow I’m not?’ He slurs, trying to grasp my hand in reassurance, but I snatch it away. I roll my eyes, standing up, only to fall back flat on my ass, losing balance. Note to myself, the wine from his reserves really gets to my head. I’m frustrated at my clumsiness, and instead of attempting to get back, I lie my head on the table. Fuck it all, the night is warm enough, and I’m more liable to kill myself on the way than catch a cold.

‘I’ll not be your regret, come tomorrow’ I mumble, drowsily. He curses my sense of honour and overblown pride, all the while pouring himself more alcohol. Fucking barbarians and their strong heads, there’s no way I could keep up with him, lightweight as I am; is my last thought before I doze off.

I wake up at dawn, with the morning chill, and a pounding head. Maferath snores hugging a pole a few meters away, and I laugh quietly at the sight, groaning, when the sound rings in my ears. Sluggishly, I make my way to the water supply tank, and pour an ice-cold bucket over my head.

It’s been a long time since I’ve indulged myself this much. It takes a while before the worst symptoms subside, and I can, without slumping too much, make my way back through the camp. I have every intention of crawling into my tent, and sleeping for at least a few more hours.

I pass by Andraste’s and Maferath’s pavilion, and it’s just my luck that Shartan and Andraste walk out, appearing annoyingly refreshed, with that unmistakeable, contended afterglow. I straighten my spine; summoning all of my dignity back from the corner in my mind, where it hid from my headache; and intend to walk by them without any acknowledgement.

But there’s a satisfied, triumphant smirk on Andraste’s face, which makes me throw all the caution to the wind. She spits on Maferath’s love and devotion callously, every day. I abhor her, and her egoism, which cares only about her own comfort and desires.

So instead, I sweep in a full blown, graceful curtsy, suitable for palaces and gowns and for a queen, and not this camp, dirt, and ragged prophet with delusions of grandeur. I haven’t done it for years, my leg throbs painfully, I’m fucking hung-over and clothed in a leather armour, but I still manage to enunciate her plebeianism to perfection, if her sharply drawn breath is anything to judge by.

Her eyes flash in fury, as she easily reads through my mockery of her. I do not even glance Shartan’s way; dismissive of him as I was of late; and as fluidly as I’m capable of, I rise up from my bent knees; and walk away, with my head held high. I have nothing to hide, to be ashamed of – aside from allowing someone to convince me to join this bloody war in the first place, but that is another matter.

Hours later, as I oversee the constructions of the battering ram – another, the previous ones burned under the pointed fireballs of the Magisters – Shartan comes up to me, with unsure expression on his face.

‘What are you doing here, Shartan?’ I ask, formally acknowledging that his place has not been by my side, not for a long time. I do not look his way, so I’m unprepared, and a bit shocked by the following outburst.

‘I really wanted for you to stop me.’ He says, with a reproach in his shaking voice. ‘To fight for me. I saw you slipping away from me, and nothing I’ve done made any difference, so I thought that maybe, if I went to someone else, you would finally look my way, again.’

‘Not to mention, you were also attracted to her.’ I point out, indifferently.

I think it’s that indifference that hurts him the most, a confirmation that I really do not care as much as he would have wished, not the fact that I had just – supposedly - slept with Maferath. Or rather, maybe he hoped I did, because that would mean I cared enough to want to hurt him.

Which I did not, but that’s the rumour spreading around, especially after last night. There are days I’m thoroughly sick of humans, who refuse to see the truth glaring in their face, and assign a wrong interpretations to the most innocent things.

‘There’s that’ he agrees, trying to feign nonchalance – but his voice trembles, ever so slightly. ‘But mostly, I was tired, of being second best in your heart. Is the person you hold so dear really that much of a wonder? So much, I do not even come close?’

You can’t even compare, I think dispassionately, and the fact that you even asked is just another proof of it.

But saying so would be callous, and I dislike needless cruelty. So I just look at him, impassively, with an inscrutable expression.

He reads the answer in my silence, and slumps, crestfallen.

Shartan crawls back to my side, in the next weeks. I accept him without a comment, and he is ruefully grateful for that.

There are three reasons why I do so.

Firstly, and of least importance, I take some – a lot - of satisfaction at the jab to Andraste. It is high time she experienced some rejection and abandonment, and even though she hadn’t loved Shartan – there are days I doubt she is capable of that emotion – at least her ego suffers.

If I believed her hostile before, now she is truly frothing in rage, and hate, towards me. I would be worried for my safety, if not for the fact that both Shartan and Maferath protect me, and she cannot afford antagonising them.

Secondly, it is for Maferath. While he might have gotten used to being betrayed, at least now it is not so glaringly, unbearably obvious. I value the man, and am glad to provide him at least with some respite, some relief for his bleeding soul. I remember how hard it was to watch someone else by the side of my beloved.

Thirdly, and above all, it is because of my guilt towards Shartan. As I think his words through, I decide that I was mistaken. I had taught him to see worth in something – namely myself. I had not realized; when, for Shartan, our relationship had stopped being an easy relief; became a painful unrequired love. But it had happened, and my obliviousness had hurt him.

I could have taught him to love himself, had I tried. I could have changed, helped him, and he would have been a better person for it. Alas, only wolf has a hold on my heart, and so, instead, I only pushed him further into self-loathing.

I cannot affect the past, nor can I influence my heart, and lying now would only make things worse. But I allow Shartan to return, and we slide back into our rapport, more subdued and less explosive than before, but he takes what he can get. I pity him, seeing a shadow of June in him; less obsessed, and far more jaded, as his life was much harder; but just the same, seeking my approval and affection.

The outer walls of Minrathous finally fall, and the carnage that follows leaves me shocked, and trembling, for days. I watch the flames and mindless destruction and savagery with widened eyes, as the warriors take out the frustration of a long uncertainty on the citizens. I believed myself prepared, and my heart steeled; removed from the matters, used to them enough to not care; yet it exceeded my worst predictions.

But the inner city holds strong and untouched, a much tougher nut to crack. The Magisters have much less area to defend, now, and their focused efforts rebuff our forces with ease and efficiency. Maferath gets grimmer with each passing day, and begins speaking of withdrawing.

They ridicule him, call him defeatist. We are this close to ultimate victory, and you want us to give up? Drunk on success, they refuse to see the reality. No one listens to his words; that no progress is being made; that the walls remain as untouched as they were weeks ago.

Meanwhile, the provisions start to run dry, and he sends expedition forces to scavenge and plunder the countryside, what remained thus far untouched. I voluntarily join these brutal excursions, often assigned as their leader by Maferath, trying to limit the damage and body count. But of course, my influence is marginal; people protest against having their supplies taken away without any recompensation, having barely enough on their own to survive; not to mention giving any of it up. It’s already a third year for Tevinter when barely anything was grown, and it takes a large toll on the populace. And so, skirmishes and battles ensue, and my hands are even more bloody, the souls of innocents marring my conscience.

Shartan pleads with me to give up this lost cause, as shadows in my eyes grow darker and darker with each return. I merely shake my head, and proceed in the gruesome duties, counting each flickering life that survives as a success, reason enough to continue, weighted against the countless who did not.

However, the situation does not improve, and when I speak to Maferath, he is a defeated man, fighting against the tide, with no one to support him.

 ‘What am I to do, Fea? She will lead all of us to our demise, destroy us.’

I know that the Alamarri cannot afford losing this expedition force, that most of the able bodied warriors had joined the war effort, that their homes are near empty back home. That even on the South there’s a threat of hunger, as females and elderly and children try to make up for the missing men, and achieve only partial success.

‘I love her, more than life itself’ he muses bitterly ‘but there’s more than just that at stake.’

He is wavering, struggling with a painful decision to oppose his wife. At this moment, I am fervently grateful that my life has never put me in this position, that I could always count on my Fen to be reasonable, and act in the best interest of his dependants. Even more than me, he had learned responsibility, and compassion.

It is not my place to advise him, but he asks nonetheless. So I give the only answer I can, the only one that stays true to myself.

‘Take pride in your conviction.’

Always, forever, no matter what, pride was the answer for me.

I can see a dark resolve, forming in him after my words. I have a nagging suspicion where this will all lead, but in the end, I put my trust in him, and in a show of support, I place my hand on his shoulder, and squeeze it reassuringly. I believe he will try to achieve the best outcome.

For some time afterwards, everything appears unchanged, as I continue taking part in raids which crush my soul, and the siege remains as ineffective as it was. Until one day, upon my return, a shocking information reaches my ears: Andraste has been captured by the ‘Vints.

They say it took place during one of her usual congregations, when she was spreading the word of the Maker in the countryside. A raiding party sneaked through the watches, and outskirts of camps; and managed to grab her, abduct, and make it back to the surrounded city.

Archon Hessarian immediately conducts an official trial; and finds her, unsurprisingly, guilty of the heinous crimes against the empire. She is to be burned, like the worst criminals, publicly.

All of the members of higher leadership of the Exalted March manage to sneak their way it the town to watch the execution. I have a sneaking suspicion that the security is purposely lax, that Hessarian wants the news of Andraste’s demise to spread far and wide from the mouths of her most trusted people. Me and Shartan also find our way inside, and mingle in with the crowd, as the pyre is slowly finished.

Andraste is an oasis of calm, in these final moments of her life. She doesn’t look at all perturbed when they chain her by her to the wooden pike, and surround her with the flammable material. I find Maferath in the crowd, with a horrible, broken look on his face as he watches the woman he had loved with his entire heart awaiting her torturous execution. He catches my eyes, and meaningfully nods in the direction of the first flames – and suddenly, I am certain that my vague suspicions were indeed correct.

This is what he had meant, by solving the situation. When he was wavering, when he was undecided what to prioritize, the love of his life, or his people, I was the one to give him the final push. My advice is what resulted in all of us being here, at this morbid spectacle. Thus, it is my duty, as much as his, to watch it till the end, without flinching, without shielding my eyes. Me and him, both of us, share responsibility for this terrible end of Andraste, as even if I was unaware of his exact plans, some part of me expected a similar outcome.

He seems a wreck of a man, a shadow of his former self. I know the depth of his devotion to the woman, and cannot begin to imagine how torturous it must have been for him, to be stuck in this situation with no good solution. Me? I must admit, I’m stunned, and shocked, and definitely guilty, but I’m not remorseful. I would have given him the same exact advice knowing what I know now, as I did then.

Maferath cries, silent tears rolling down his cheeks, when flames engulf her. Her screams of pain, once the burn starts corroding her skin, are haunting, and I want nothing else but to cover my ears. But no, of all people, I am not allowed to. I am guilty, as Maferath is, the death of Maker’s Bride on our hands. So I keep my head held high, even when people around me cover from the smoke and stench of burnt flesh, and I look.

Look until nothing but ashes remain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is for BloodOrchid and WolfenWings: alas, sorry, no dressing down.
> 
> Darthlacey, you do have a point about the Dalish becoming insular only afterwards, and in the Wings, there are some humans as well, I think I implied that? Though Fean’Na doesn’t have much contact with them. Shartan is not prejudiced against humans, only against Tevinter, so here our points convene.  
> What I think Solas wouldn’t have allowed are the Vallaslin, and the reverence for the former pantheon, considering the, in my world, Twilight, and in the lore, I don’t know, war that Falon’Din begun? They were rather bloodthirsty bunch, the Evanuris, but DA doesn’t give much detail besides vague references to Andruils insanity and a few other rather brutal occurences. Dalish had preserved the worst parts of the traditions from Dales, but those are exactly what Solas would have hated in original country as well, I think.


	17. Wearied Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ASSUMPTIONS:  
> 1\. Thedas is the sole continent, a whole world of DA.  
> 2\. Original Inquisition timeline is around 8 years, and not 2 years, like it is according to Wiki.

**Wearied Pride**

I know that Andraste had to die to stop this war from continuing, as its focal, driving force. The main advocate and inspiration. Yet even though I despised the bitch, I wish there was another solution – for Maferath’s sake, who is completely shattered by his own actions.

Shartan knows that something is amiss, from my behaviour and other small, scattered hints, and soon connects the dots. He is very bright, no matter my other criticism of him. He comes to confirm his theory with me, one evening, all rough edges and pointy spikes and a barely contained violence.

‘It was Maferath, wasn’t it? And you knew.’ His growl is heavy with accusation. I look at him, collected and unmoved by his censure, and just raise my eyebrow. I had expected him to condemn me for my actions, and so, am not surprised by the confirmation of my predictions.

He curses us both with foul words, before stating murderously,

‘I’ll end the bastard for his betrayal.’

‘No!’ I stop him, clutching onto his arm before he marches out to accomplish his deadly intent. ‘If you ever cared for me, even a little, you will leave this alone, Shartan.’

 ‘Why?’ He asks with calm, but it is superficial, only on the surface. I see the grip on his sword tighten, his knuckles whitening from the pressure.

‘Because it was necessary.’ I whisper, squarely meeting his terrible gaze. He inhales heavily, closing his eyes and steeling himself, and then exhales slowly, his tenseness and ferocity leaving him. His hold on the weapon handle relaxes, and he says quietly,

‘Only because you asked, Fean’Na. I’ll see where it will all lead.’

It was not particularly fair of me, to use the knowledge of his feelings towards me against him, but being fair is overrated, in any case.

There are others, beside Shartan, who suspect Maferath’s role in this outcome, remembering his words of caution and warning. He just ridicules them, and their claims. He points out that he had warned Andraste of the danger multiple times, to heed caution, take more care during her excursions. I also involve myself, reminding people of his attempts to send guards with Andraste, squashing their suspicions in the root. Even before the very incident, he had pleaded with her to accept escort, as usual. There are many witnesses of that argument between them, and those eager to accuse him finally leave the issue alone, grumbling in dissatisfaction, but unable to reject the truth.

Shartan doesn’t have to wait long; I’ve got to hand it to him, the Archon perfectly seizes the chance Andraste’s death provides. Without her, the acclaimed unity of the Exalted Army crumbles. Hessarian swiftly takes charge, hollering about his changed loyalties and suddenly awakened conscience and faith for the Maker; moved by the courage and unshakeable belief she had presented.

Personally, I witnessed a whole lot of screaming and suffering from the woman, but I guess it can be interpreted in many ways. Though Creators kill me on this very spot, if Hessarian was in any way enlightened, when he watched the pyre of the woman he had personally ordered burned. He is an opportunist, not a convert, that’s for certain.

But it allows him to pretend that Tevinter hadn’t surrendered, or lost, in any way. That the breakout of the siege is a result of his generosity and strength of character, and not a necessity. By spreading this message, the myth of Empire’s might prevails, and the Magisters can retain their self-esteem. And the dangerous, ruinous impasse is finally broken.

I never find out the exact details of the agreement between him and Maferath, but soon, the generals are bought and bribed, one after another, to abandon the encirclement of Minrathous. With riches or lands, all of them forsake the so-called holy cause, and return to their new homes, Maferath leading the exodus.

He says, truthfully, that the only thing that even kept him around for as long as he did was Andraste and without her, there’s no meaning to remaining. He claims the south eastern lands of the Empire, supposedly a generosity of Hessarian’s, and soon all of the Southerners settle there, in near vicinity of one another.

Lastly, claiming that the valiant assistance of slaves had won over his… ekhm… romantic heart, the Archon gives Shartan the lands just south of Maferath’s deeds.

Shartan looks at me in pure amazement, while reading the official writ, his astonished eyes asking whether I predicted that outcome in the first place. To say the truth, I did not, not precisely. Although I expected **something**. It is a much better than anything the Wings could have expected with Andraste emerging victorious.

Honestly, I’m fucking impressed, looking at the new map of Thedas, and the carefully played out game. The Archon’s moves are ingenious, he used the opportunity to conveniently shackle his enemies, by offering them lands that are of meagre importance to the empire, yet positioned in such a way that will allow him to turn them against one another.

His carefully worded promises, kept to the letter, also do not allow all of the slaves to leave, only those who actually **assisted** in the war effort. Many did not, and they have to remain behind. It is particularly brilliant on his part, ridding of all those sowing dissent, and the most organized, without having to do much of anything, really. The Dales was, either way, barely inhabited, and without notable resources.

That’s when me and Shartan part ways. With the gift of Dales from the emperor, in recognition of his deeds for Andraste – officially – he plans on rebuilding the glory of Arlathan. I keep my words to myself – that the emperor wants to get rid of the troublemakers with the smallest amount of effort, after his military force had been expended. That the Arlathan Shartan imagines did not exist, and once it fell, the elves went to each other’s throats, after years of oppression and decisive leadership unable to deal with the sudden freedom. That the Tevinter had little to do with the fall of Evhen, they were merely scavengers, when the history would paint them predators.

He had refused to listen to me many times before, and he would do so now as well. Who knows, he just might build an utopia exceeding the original one. I’m sceptical.

Shartan asks, begs me, to come with him. He promises to make me his queen, a ruler by his side, and tells me he needs my perspective for his task. There’s so much I could help with, so much that I have to offer to the People.

He is not wrong in that I could, most likely, do some good for Dales. But I feel remorseful towards Tevinter. It was, in the end, quite kind for me, and I repaid it with betrayal. My pride demands the record to be set straight, as much as I’m capable of.

So I just smile, and shake my head, telling him it’s time for us to end this. His duty is to go, mine is to remain, and rebuild the slave underground, torn to pieces and barely in existence after the departure of Wings of Freedom. They will need every assistance, every little bit of help. It will be my penance, an appeasement of my conscience, after all the spilt blood.

Finally, with lowered head, he leaves.

The following years are hard and trying. The consequences of the war are both terrible and far-reaching, and for many years, slaves are both blamed and exploited to deal with the aftermath. I use the experience I’ve gained by Shartan’s side to try and recreate the resistance, but my efforts are futile. The Magisters are much more watchful now, much more brutal and decisive while dealing with any signs of defiance, and slowly, hope begins dying in me.

Indeed, at least some of my dark predictions come true, and in repercussion of our rebellion, all of our past efforts turn to nothing. Well, not exactly, as Shartan got his Dales, but those that were left behind have it worse than ever before.

I hold onto that single bright light, carefully listening in to all the news that come from beyond the borders. But Dales is far, and Shartan is extremely busy. I hear only bits and pieces, in the faraway Tevinter. I cannot begin to imagine what sort of duties constitute into his daily life, as I’ve never held a responsibility over a budding kingdom.

The Andratian religion starts to take root in the many former provinces of the Empire, as well as Tevinter itself. The proud Magisters would much rather adopt the new religion, than admit they had failed so thoroughly against mere mortals. Because if they were trying to match up against god, the outcome was inevitable, and therefore is much easier to accept.

Personally, I’m rather nauseated by the whole thing, when the tales of Andraste get exaggerated with each retelling, until the reality becomes so distorted it is nigh unrecognizable. They portray her a saint of a stellar character, and attribute the accomplishments of the Exalted March solely to her enlightened, blessed leadership.

So eager they are to forget the destruction her mission had wrought. So easily all of the suffering and death is explained by the divinity, and holiness, and then, too, forgotten.

The woman burned for her assault on the Empire is elevated by its citizens to martyrdom, and following the events, Hessarian builds a Temple in her honour. They call it a Temple of Sacred Ashes, a place of worship and religion, where they place her remains. Pilgrimages are held, and word of the healing properties a pinch taken from the urn grants soon spread, far and wide.

I’m quite doubtful of the truth of the legend. It is not, however, impossible. The Maker’s influence rose rather significantly, and Mythal, in the past, was capable of similar miracles. He could have used this to further spread his religion. Still, the universality the said ashes is in question, I rather guess he treats each healing individually, as it requires much less power than a constant upkeep of universal panacea.

I could be wrong about that, however.

But Archon Hessarian had not forgotten the humiliation of being forced to accept a conditional surrender; even if the official story omits it. It must have chafed him, to know that he was both outwitted and outplayed by a mere barbarian with a penchant for strategy and warfare. So he takes his revenge, after years of precise preparations, and spreads the news of Maferath’s role in Andraste’s demise far and wide. He plays the role of remorseful sinner trying to make amendments masterfully.

And Maferath loses everything, in a matter of days – his lands, the support of his people, and soon, his life.

His death is the final straw for me, after years of slowly losing heart for both Empire and Thedas, and I begin to withdraw from all of my endeavours, which were going poorly anyway. I am disheartened that even after managing to stop Shartan, even after my other efforts to protect my friend, he had still met an untimely, and undeserved, end.

I collect my moveable wealth, gems mostly, as these are easiest to transport and tend to retain value, and retreat into the mountains. I spend next weeks preparing for my departure, as well as writing a letter to Fen. It’s not an easy task.

At first, I cannot bring myself to even begin. I feel tainted by all the terrible things I was a part of, undeserving of his friendship anymore. But I also feel like I owe him that much, so in the end, I force myself to it.

Once I begin, everything comes pouring out of me, all the pain and suffering relieved on the paper. Before I know it, I write of the Wings and their ideals, of Shartan, of Andraste and her March, of the Empire and what I loved, and what I hated about it.

_I do not know whether Andraste was like that from the beginning, or whether it was her god’s love that broke her. But by the end, she was both selfish and selfless, both generous and avarice, both loyal and full of betrayal, deceit. A bundle of contradictions, suffering from overblown ego and a desperate need to confirm her worth. I’ve never envied her the attentions of Maker, I know that these things do not end well. Even us, dear wolf, ended a tragedy, and we are both uncommonly down-to-earth._

I’m so not including this part in a letter. No point in poking at open wounds.

_…_

_The Empire was a thing of beauty and darkness, a place where the best and worst ideals clashed and warred. The magic held people in check, but in the midst of that, there were Tribunes who spoke for the commoners, for powerless, granted immunity and chosen on a popularity contest, and they held a lot of sway, back in the day._

_Now, the office is very much dead. Hessarian removed most of their privileges, and the current Tribunes are only a front. Already there are voices in Magisterium proclaiming the complete removal of the function. I expect that soon, it will come to pass._

_…_

_While some of the slaves had it bad, they were considered a valuable commodity, and culturally, mistreating a slave was a sign of profligacy, a very much frowned upon excess. Even though they were not granted any rights, custom defended slaves; once they left the hands of the slavers; from mistreatment. Not that it excused slavery in any way, it is a deplorable thing, but really, it wasn’t usually so bad._

_Which is why the Wing’s efforts focused on the market, and not on the slave owners. It was the slavers and the fighting rings that dealt the most abuse._

_However, even that is subject to change, now. The actions of Wings, joining the war, had been denounced by the populace. While they do their best to pretend it wasn’t so, and praise the new god and religion wholeheartedly, the horrors of war are still fresh and the blame needs to be placed somewhere._

_It is the slaves who bear the brunt of the hatred._

_The Magisters have begun it, this blame assignation, with a new custom - using blood of others in their magic. Others meaning slaves, of course. It used to be only their own, a precaution against too powerful a summoning. But they had learned fear, during the blight, and during this Crimson Rebellion, and now covet power without restraint._

_…_

_I very much fear that even though Hessarian did his best to save what he could of the Empire, the most important things have perished forever. This beautiful gem of humanity has already lost most of its lustre, and I see no recovery from that, only falling into further disarray in recent years._

And finally, I write of Maferath, of our truth, because no one else will.

_They call him the Betrayer, now. A man who had saved with his painful decision not one, but two nations from famine and decay; will be forever remembered as Betrayer. One of the greatest heroes – and how soon they all forget it was not about Enlightenment, not at first, it was about survival – who had made the fucking Exalted March possible in the first place. Without his staunch support, Andraste would not have even begun **.** So fucking unfair._

_He had prevented a bloodbath, a true Crimson Rebellion. I am, and will remain, forever grateful to him, that my worst predictions will not come true. I know already; the Empire will prevail. Maybe a bit more jaded, a bit more ruthless and without most of its splendour; but at least for now, it’s existence is unthreatened._

_Same for the Alamarri who thrive and grow in strength, now. With the return of the men laboriously claiming the new lands he had won them. I think it will be their time, to dominate Thedas in the ages to come._

_His own sons had killed him. I think this might have been the worst of all, for Maferath – the fact that even his own children did not comprehend, turned against him. They weren’t even born of the bitch, only adopted by Andraste, because the woman was apparently too weak for pregnancy, at least a male one. And they turned against their own blood._

_She was long dead by the time. Truly, Andraste was a magnetic personality, easily drawing people in, entangling them._

_I see parallels between him and you, my wolf, and they frighten me. Both of your nations attribute all the wrong motivations to your actions, see only the superficial surface of the consequences, unable to look further, comprehend more. I weep for him, for my friend, so misunderstood and undeserving of what fate had in store for him._

_I pray to the Creators that you will spared from the same conclusion._

_The history is rarely kind, or truthful. The ultimate winner from this whole ordeal is the Maker, I guess. The Empire humbled and converted, its former gods forsaken, his prophet martyred and elevated above mere mortals, and the other human clans quickly falling in line to submit as well._

_I wonder what happened to them, really. Dumat and the others. I think they were just as real as he is even if not quite as powerful, by my estimations. Were they, perhaps, destroyed by him, cast out of heavens? Is that the origin of the Blight? Or maybe they simply flickered out of existence, once the people stopped needing, believing in them, and the faith became superficial. And the Maker merely took over the empty heavens. I do not know._

_I wish I could ask what you think about all that, but then again, with the time you’ve spent sleeping, you wouldn’t have any answers, would you, Fen?_

Afterwards, I look at the pages and pages of my history and thoughts and reflections, unspoken for so long, and I know that I cannot burden Fen with all that. This is mine, my suffering, which, while one day I might share, it will not be now. It will be only if he asks for it, and as of yet, he did not.

Not to mention, I do not think I deserve any compassion from him. I had failed, on many levels, my own ideals, and to protect, many times, over and over again. The only thing I upheld was my pride.

It is not much, but it let me breathe.

So I carefully fold these pages, and put them at the very bottom of my stash, covered by the gems and my gear. They allowed me to put matters more into perspective, organize some of my thoughts, and there might yet come a time when I’ll have wish to return to all this.  

Then, I write another letter, more proper this time, referring mostly to my hopes and briefly outlining the events, without delving too deeply into my role in it all. I write mostly of the beginning days with the Wings, and of Shartan, and my prayers for the Dales, as well as my findings regarding the blood magic, knowing it would interest him.

_I know it is highly unlikely, but I cannot help praying for success of the Elvhen - elves. Their fate is, once again, in their hands, and Shartan is a capable leader, who had, through suffering and determination, learned a lot._

_I wonder if you would have liked him. He has a tendency for vast ignorance, which you would have detested, but his devotion would have surely met your approval. Alas, this meeting will never come to be._

_I think there will be much beauty and growth, in Dales, and I believe in Shartan’s capabilities, wishing him the very best._

As before, I deliver the letter to the hands of the Disciples, lingering for a while near the sequestered entrance to Fen’s cove. Finally, with a defeated sigh, I refrain from entering, unable to combat my guilt.

I return back to my sanctuary without dallying, and Thedasian reality fades away.

Once I’m back home, surrounded by flowers and pastels and peace, depression returns with renewed strength. I hadn’t achieved much of anything in Tevinter, and my conscience remains as heavy as it was.

Contrasting my experiences with the Earthen reality doesn’t help the issue, pushing me progressively into a never-ending chain of doubts and self-accusations. Maybe… If only… Had I considered… The questions and what if’s circle in my head, and in defence, I close myself off, trying to avoid thinking about much of anything.

My apathy is incomprehensible for my mother, especially since it doesn’t pass, as per usual course of action, but instead prevails as strong as it was since my awakening. No, gaining in magnitude. My voice is subdued, my movements lack vigour, and my eyes are dead.

At first she leaves it alone, but then begins prodding, and finally, demanding, answers. I look at her impassively, and wonder, what could I possibly reply.

Mum, I watched a city burn. Another one.

Mum, I had killed a lot of innocent people, because I saw no other way to hasten the conclusion of a terrible war. Would you look at me the same if you knew that?

Mum, I condemned to, and then observed, a woman burn to her death. Am I a terrible person because I would do so again?

Instead, I settle on saying that someone important died. I keep to myself that it was a close friend, who had paid with his legacy and will be forever besmirched in the pages of history. And I watched it happen, unable to do anything.

She leaves me to my, presumed, grief afterwards, though I can see she is disgruntled and unconvinced by my explanation.

I cannot paint anymore. It pains me, but whenever I return to the canvas, I see only flames, and Andraste’s face, scrunched in pain. I do not want to immortalize that, there’s no beauty in such torture, nor do I feel that she deserves such recognition from me.

So I don’t touch my brushes anymore, using up the accumulated wealth to travel around. I am restless, unable to remain in one spot for a long time, as my memories chase me, and I attempt to, pointlessly, outrun them.

I’m forced to partially confront everything, when I’m accosted in a dark alley near hotel by two drunk adolescents, either right out of high school or in the midst of their studies. The usual demands of cash follow, as they expect me to be an easy prey – a lonely woman in an empty neighbourhood.  

Instead of fleeing, which would be more reasonable, my instincts tell me to fight. That I can take them on easily. My body might not be trained, and I have no magic here; but in this state, they pose no challenge. And the lack of Fade forced me, even in Thedas, to rely on physical movement more, so it’s not like I’m unprepared.

Even in this reality, where I feel sluggish and heavy, I can easily predict their swaying, flaying motions, and sidestep them. My mind is crystal clear, and with a pointed strike to the back of the first one’s head, I make him lose consciousness on the spot.

I barely stop the blow that would crush the windpipe of another, with a sudden shudder running over me – these are only kids, for gods sake! My remaining opponent, clearly terrified, loses his balance and falls on his face, fainting promptly.

I inhale deeply, calming my slightly quickened breath and pulse, and reach to the phone, calling police to take care of the two delinquents. Only while punching the keys, I realize the slight pain of my small finger, and after the whole incident is reported, I drop by a hospital, to check up on it.

To my complete shock, they tell me I broke it. The force and application of the blow was more than my bones could take, and I actually broke them. They ask me in astonishment whether I felt no pain, and I just look at them in silence, astounded.

All these changes within me, and I can no longer pretend, separate the me from Thedas, and me from Earth. The little Anne is barely a shadow in my memory, but my parents claimed I was nearly angelic child – maybe at times too quiet or shy, but gentle. As she got older, Joanne had never struck anyone, rarely rising her voice, and was a good friend and a co-worker and student. Fean’Na from the past, from Fen’s side, was lost in the reality of things, but nonetheless, peaceful, in nature. And now?

Now, I am so used to pain of staving off the geas here, and my mangled leg back there, not to mention any injuries acquired while fighting or training, I had completely disregarded a broken bone. Minor, but that’s not how normally people react, is it?

Worse, now, I had nearly killed too stupid for his own good child, who accidentally took on more than he could chew. It was completely automatic on my part, thoughtless. I had stopped at the last possible moment. Had he not been so unbelievably young…

Avoiding mirrors to not see the shadows in my eyes does not make me a different person. I do not think twice before slitting the throat of yet another opponent crossing my path. It is true both for Earth, and for Thedas, even if I’m considerably less skilled and practiced here. Long gone are trembles, pangs of conscience reminding me that these are fellow living beings, or even the slightest hesitation – as long as I consider them my enemies, they’re fair pray. I wouldn’t call myself coldblooded per se, but it wouldn’t be far off if one used that as a description of me.

Once I think it all through, I come to the conclusion that there’s no more life for me here. I tried to pretend otherwise, but with each return, it becomes more and more clear. I am a stranger in this realm, and there’s no redemption for me here. I have committed my many sins in Thedas, and if anywhere, it will be in Thedas where I’ll regain my peace of mind.

I start saying goodbye to Earth, and my life here. I drop many hints along the lines to my family, slowly adjusting them to this idea. I do not know if it is my last return, but I think it might be. Once I’ve realized being home is more of an effort than a relief, I’ve also realized it’s time to let go.

I wish it were otherwise.

Alas, my pride does not allow me to hide from the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is for Darthlacey.


	18. Awakening Pride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An ASSUMPTION for the remainder of the story:  
> there are many speculations and arguments why Thedas cannot, nor should, be the whole world of DA, merely one of the continents – mostly relating to its size. Well, I have not mentioned it explicitly before, but in my story, we operate under the assumption it is.

**Awakening Pride**

Another letter from my wolf awaits me in the usual spot, as I rub my eyes and slowly adjust to the sharpened senses, and stretch, inhaling deeply to dull the first shock at the familiar pang of pain. It hadn’t been long, but I appreciated my time on Earth without this particular downside of my existence here.

_‘Fean’Na,_

_The Dalish fell short of your expectations, my friend._

Am I perceiving it wrong, or does the tone of this seem a bit more snippy than typical Fen?

Maybe it’s my imagination.                                                          

_The kingdom your Shartan built survived but a three and half century, before they antagonized the up and raising power of the Andrastian Chantry. I’m lacking details on the falling out, but the resulting carnage has scattered the elves across whole Thedas. They banded into clans and shy away from the civilization, or became subjects to humans, living in the cities as the lowest class in society._

_The City Elves are not in enviable position. They are scorned both by their living in wilderness cousins, and by the humans. Most of them converted to the new faith, forsaking their former beliefs. Not particularly surprising, considering the circumstances, but it is a shame. Seeing them vying for the attention of a god who, by my appraisal, cares nothing about them._

_The Dalish Clans, on the other hand, are quite aggravating. They’ve gathered the myths and legends and scraps and lord it over their unfortunate cousins, as if they had any actual knowledge. But they don’t, thinking that Evanuris equalled to Creators, and taking what used to be a laughable propaganda at face value. They introduced Vallaslin as a symbols of proud allegiance, can you imagine it? A slave markings, treated with reverence? I know you would hate it as much as I do, with your passionate love for freedom._

_I’ve attempted to reach out to them, correct their misunderstandings, in respect of their pride. But they are more arrogant than really proud, incapable of seeing past their ingrained beliefs. Childish repetitions, losing details and accuracy with each retelling. I quite gave up on them, only the descendants of my followers still preserve the truth among them._

_Of course, I merely had too high expectations, risen by your words._

It’s not merely my imagination, Fen does seem quite irritated. Well, confronted with such wilful ignorance, it is not very surprising, but somehow, I get more personal vibe…?

_I have to warn you of the Chantry, however. They are getting progressively more adverse towards magic. In result of their teachings, the Circles, which used to be a places of learning and invention, now are becoming more akin to prisons. The Templar order, an armed arm of the Chantry, keeps watch over them. They are implementing anti-magic rituals and techniques, based on the lyrium drug._

_You are familiar with it, no doubt._

_The topic is fascinating. They have adapted it from the runes used by the Children of the Stone as early as during the Twilight of Gods. You remember, they sealed themselves from the turmoil above their heads, and remained undisturbed, thanks to these runic protections, laid in lyrium._

_The Templars, as I mentioned, evolved these techniques, took them a step further. Now, through the ingestion of purified lyrium, they’re capable of using glyphs in a manner akin to how mages reach to their mana. They reinforce the reality, so to speak, pushing the Fade even further away than it is already, enclosed behind the Veil._

_The air feels dead and nauseating, afterwards. I do not recommend being in the vicinity._

_Of course, the side effects of lyrium for the body are as severe as ever, and of its refined version, even more so. It’s both addictive and harmful, hardly any of the Templars live past their prime._

_But I’ve gone off topic. The populace has also become quite prejudiced, and I advise you, keep your abilities hidden. Unless you would like to be catered off and imprisoned, but no matter the passage of time, I doubt you changed that much._

It does sound pretty critical of the changes within me, and I try to recall what I wrote to him that merited such harshness. I come up with nothing, and I swallow my unease, feeling a pang of pain at his censure. Then again, if I actually sent him the true, first letter, it would have been well deserved... The unwelcome thought deteriorates my poor to begin with mood, even further. 

_There were many changes on the political map of Thedas, some of which will no doubt amuse you, while the other will be bewildering. Right now, the situation is very much undecided, changing almost by the year, and I cannot predict how the wind will blow once you return._

_My awakening this time is also, unfortunately, temporary. I’ve grown impatient, and rushed the issue._

_On the bright note, I believe this is the last time I’m forced to rest in such manner. The next time I rise, it will be permanently. Hopefully, our paths shall cross, one day._

_Fen’Harel’_

Afterwards, I find myself at a loss at how to progress. Fen’s letter has left me feeling very much numb, while I try to get over my shock at the destruction of Dales. To think that Shartan’s dream hadn’t lasted even four centuries!

What a bloody waste.

Bitterness and anger vie within me for dominance, but it is hopelessness that prevails. My intentions were cut in the bud, and now that I have no means of assisting the Elvhen kingdom – because there’s none to be had – my sins weight heavily on me. I do not know what to do with myself, anymore. 

In the end, I venture out, reluctantly, aware that my pride would not allow me to wallow idly in guilt, hidden from the word. It would be a weaklings’ choice, and I do not like associating that word with me.

I cannot, however, for the first time ever, bring myself to visit Fen. I used to do it first thing after the return, hoping he could, possibly, be awake. Now, I pray he is not, and would not see me in this pathetic state. Even my pride barely holds against the apathy and despair, so prominent in my heart.

Instead, I reach to some of my savings from the stash – there’s a considerable wealth there, having gathered a lot of dust on the priceless gemstones – and set out travelling. The surroundings are more inhabited than before, and soon, I reach a village, where I am able to acquire a mount, speeding up my journey.

Aimlessly, I wander Thedas, undecided and aloof and uncaring. The bleak fate of Elvhen hit me hard, since the whole motivation behind my joining the Exalted March was achieving something for my race. Finding that all my efforts were meaningless, well...

In an attempt to combat these feelings, though without much conviction, I focus on gathering as much information as possible on the changes that occurred during my period of absence. Even if I do not know what I’ll use it for, knowledge often translates to power; or so I tell myself to muster up some motivation. It still doesn't come as easily as it should, and I have to force myself to remain focused. 

Another sign of my slow deterioriation, I recognize, darkly. 

The first thing that gets my attention is language. The common tongue, as the people call it, is eerily similar to English, and the first time I hear it, I stumble, shocked. It catches my interest, or as much of it as my frozen heart is capable of, and I take a few months to study its intricacies.

Apparently, the origins of it are a Dwarven Trade talk, which evolved to ease usage. It is a bit disturbing, at first, hearing it spoken so commonly around, but slowly, I adjust, and catch onto the slight accenting as well as terminology differences. They’re not major, nor overly pronounced – details, really – like ‘Serrah’ instead of sir, and other things alike. Usually I can easily perceive their meaning from the context, and it doesn’t take long before I achieve proficiency both in speech and writing.

Sometimes I wonder if this resemblance is not a proof of Thedas and Earth being parallel to each other, in some obscure way. Maybe this is why my strange ability brought me to this place, all those years ago.

Ultimately, I abandon this train of thoughts, as it matters little. They’re still all too different from one another, even if there are peculiar similarities.

In my journeys, I also try to recreate the events that led to the current state of Thedas, familiarizing myself with the changes. I reach a few important conclusions, once I am more or less acquainted with what had happened.  

I decisively detest the new, fucking Holy, Empire, which encompasses the entire south-western part of the continent. I find Orleasians pretentious, groundlessly and offensively. Their customs are laughable and encourage laziness and backstabbing, which is a ruinous combination. Their magicians are shackled, held in check, and the lack of magic can be felt in the very shape of the cities, in the very soul of the Empire. They willingly, purposely, avoid any improvements, modifications, as long as they originate from magic. It is an illogical, cowardly choice, which cripples their potential. In Thedas, it is a fatal mistake, and one that is already affecting them.

I do not condone fear of power, of any kind. Everything and everyone has a potential of being dangerous – that does not mean we suspect every person we pass on the street of having murderous tendencies. Magic simply holds different kinds of dangers to it.

This religion-based imperium is not much to look at, pales in comparison with the former glory of Tevinter. It is terribly young, what, not even a millennium, and yet they strut about like proud peacocks for being the most influential over such insignificant period of time. They’ve never even came close to the size and domination of Tevinter, not to mention, Arlathan. Their cultural achievements are meagre, bolstered by the support of the Chantry, but mostly, if I said that any effect they have at all could be attributed easily to the Chantry itself, it would not be stretch. Aside from supporting it, they have little to speak of.

And even that is already slipping from them, too. The new Empress, barely established; about a year after my arrival; is young and uncertain in her position. From the beginning of her rule, she is in conflict with her cousin and opposing contender for the throne, Gaspard. The male is much more accomplished, and yet, she got the crown.

It is a sign of decadency when an obviously better equipped and prepared heir is passed over because of political schemes and plays. I see no other advantages to placing Celene on the throne, aside from the growth of the court influence, since she will be forced to rely on them to stay afloat.

Through the recent ages, the Empire had lost a lot of the lands it held at its prime. Yet the nobles are willing to play such games, with the Council of Heralds placing a puppet on the throne, and expecting no reaction. It’s ludicrous, and asking for insurrection and a coup attempt. Already, the people are whispering about an army gathering under Gaspard’s auspices. I expect it won’t be long before this cauldron of volatile substances explodes.

I am planning on keeping as away from it all as possible, when it finally comes about.

Had Tevinter not been engaged in their wars with neighbouring countries so much, I expect the Orlais would have lost its prime position back to them years ago. Alas, the Senate does seem engaged in petty power plays which achieve little, and setback the growth of the formerly supreme country considerably. The beginnings of the collapse I saw all those years ago, when ‘Vints had discarded their most valuable traditions as a consequence of fear, has now progressed much further. Unless a significant change happens, the Tevinter will corrode from the inside, and be conquered by its more vigorous, younger, neighbours.

There’s another thing I hold against Orlais. The close ties to the Chantry. Which, in the short time I’ve travelled Thedas, proved to be even worse of an organization than Fen warned me about.

From what I’ve found out, it was initially created by Justinia, Andraste’s hand-maiden, soon after my departure from Thedas; though it was way over a century before it was officially called like that. I remember the unassuming, youthful woman, trailing after the prophet with worship and dog-like loyalty in her eyes. She used the fame her association with the martyr brought her, to found the official religion.

I guess at least half the reason was that she wished to oppose Hessarian, and his attempts at laying hands on most of Andraste’s legacy. Justinia was one of those who did not believe in his turn-around, hating him for execution of her idol and teacher.

Which is why the Andrastian cult was established on the lands of one of Maferath’s sons, separate from Tevinter and its sphere of influence. Years later, King Drakon from the town-city of Orlais sanctioned it as Chantry, and established his empire on the basis of it, as well as successful military conquests. Again, in the name of holy cause.

Justinia took Andraste’s words, that magic shall serve the men and not the other way round, and built the religion largely around… fear. Yes, it is not merely of redemption, and Makers glory, most of the Chantry’s teachings revolve around restrictions that ought to be placed upon mages. She carefully manipulated words, using what commoners most feared about mages – the demonic possessions – to unify them in their fears. She was very deliberate with her instructions, theoretically condemning only blood magic branch of specialization, but then stating that every mage is prone to falling prey to temptation. It is why magic ought to be controlled, in her recommendation.

It is was a revenge attempt, against Hessarian and the Magisters, I read it easily through the lines of what remains from her original writings. The animosity drips from the words, although clad in religious embellishments and instructions, muddling it. Years later, with the creation of the Templar order, long after Justinia’s death, her vengeance against the Tevinter comes to fruition.

The Templar order. The original values it was built upon are both respectable, and worth striving for. Protection of the weak. Loyalty. Devotion to the cause. Faith in the Maker – I’m a bit squeamish about that bit, but it is a Shem organization, and it is a Shem god, so… - and in your fellow Knights. Courage. Justice. All things which could make them great, yet, because they’re seen only in black and white shades, instead, make them intolerant, overly rigorous and inflexible.

Which is ridiculous, because while dealing with magic, flexibility of mind is a necessity. It is, after all, a denial of logic and natural order, and by extension, requires a specific perspective.

The order becomes synonymous with being narrow-minded and bigoted, from the viewpoint of Mages. They both fear and abhor the Templars, who take on the role of their jailors, and keep them locked up. The complete authority they have over their charges leaves a lot of grey, undefined area for abuse and undue severity, easily explained as preventive measures against corruption.

That is not to say it is a fair assessment of **all** Templars. Some of them are capable of achieving a good rapport with the ones they’re guarding, seeing past the fear and prejudice. But the stories of such friendships are sadly few and far between, and in general, discouraged by the Order, whenever they occur.

What makes me hate the Order, with vehemence and passion, is not their bias. It is a natural thing to fear what we can’t understand, and I would have disliked them for this weakness, but no more than that. No, what makes me abhor them is the rite of Tranquility. A fate worse than death, for any mage, having their mind fried by lyrium until no personality, no thought remains.

It’s not even the fact it is performed, at all. I would accept this glorified execution, feared it, but understood, if not for the hypocrisy surrounding it. They fucking dare to claim it is a kindness, that it is not, in fact, an embellished death sentence. Because the walking corpse of a person remains behind, capable of some basic functions.

It is this… fraud, pretention of benevolence, this fucking lie they spread that makes everything within me renounce, rebel against them and their so-called justice. I had never before felt so much enmity towards anything. Even with my rather stunted emotional reactions, I am raging, cold anger seeping into my heart.

 Andraste, at least, truly believed, truly did not see most of the consequences. Of course, she had also refused to listen, but the woman had some serious problems with herself.

 **Templars** ennoble murder as a mercy.

It is explained as preferable to being devoured by demons. Personally, I would much rather have my soul consumed. At least, I would have a semblance of choice then – which one would get to me. It makes it, rather ironically, squaring the circle, as many of those who are about to be subjected to it think similarly to me. They turn to demonic assistance in desperation and to have a **choice**. In doing so, proving that the concerns of their handlers were justified, and further enhancing the usage of the rite.

All of it led to a schism within the Chantry, as the Magisters fought to retain the original, more benevolent, instructions of Andraste, while the rest of the world was quite eager to put them down. The division results with designating the so called Black Divine, patron of the Tevinter’s branch of Chantry, and the White Divine, accepted as a religious leader by the rest of Thedas. ‘Vints end up isolated, and are considered heretics by most of the other countries, the most demonized nation in the entire Thedas.

Justinia’s revenge had succeeded, remarkably. She had managed to bring down the other party responsible for burning of Andraste, long after Maferath had paid his due. Against myself, I am impressed.

I find myself drawn to Tevinter, in spite of its fall. After a while of resisting, and floundering through Free Marches and merchant-filled Antiva, I finally stop, and turn to where my heart leads me. I pass through Arlathan Forest, where once the center of Elvhenan had beaten. The ruins have been largely consumed by the forest, but I know, the city itself had not fallen from the skies. I had thought this before, but there’s a distinct possibility that Fen had forced it through the Veil in its entirety. It would certainly answer the question how had he captured all of the Evanuris in a single sweep – they were all there, after all.

Minrathous is disheartening. It is a much more jaded city than it used to be, the joyful gem decorations that brightened the streets mostly gone. The grand sculptures are also bereft of the glittering, sparkling jewels, and I desperately miss the colours that used to enliven the city.

Still, some of that remains, and I climb the roof of the Senate to enjoy the sunset awakening the magnificence of the Archon’s palace, as gorgeous as ever. The residences of the Magisters are also quite dazzling, even if none splendour can be seen from the streets, anymore. Which is a damn shame, if I say so myself.

I do not know what leads my steps to the downtown alley in the vicinity of where Shartan’s headquarters used to be. Nostalgia, perhaps. Fate. But I go, and come across a brutal scene.

A young, redheaded elven slave is held by two, clearly alcohol induced, young Shems. Her clothes are half ripped, and they are roughly groping her undeveloped curves. Their intentions are evident, and I turn away as the first one loosens the clasp of his belt.

It is not an uncommon scene in the dark corners. Women are treated poorly, whether they are slaves, of dirt poor commoners, in places where physical strength and cruelty rule. Passion can be like a drug for those trying to forget the harshness of their lives.

I intend to ignore it, clad in indifference shackling my heart. Not the first, nor the last child to be accosted in such manner on these streets, and I have no means of saving them all.

Yet something moves within me, when I glance sideways, and see a delicately framed body of a child, trying to squirm out of their grasp, as I begin to walk away.

Her eyes make me pause, dilated in silent scream for help, as the rough hand covers her mouth, muffling any sound.

And before I realize it, I am in a flurry of movement, ripping her from the males’ violent embrace in one, swift motion. Placing her delicately on the ground, I twirl around, and with a deeply ingrained in me tempo, and deadly grace, I break the spine of the smaller of the two, using a touch of magic to amplify the strength of my blow.

One. And two. And three, and a step back.

I am completely calm and collected, as the body slides against the wall, with a shocked expression forever frozen on his face.

The other male jerks away, with a slightly delayed reaction, falling to his knees from sudden fright, and scrambles to get away. He is so unbelievably slow, I judge dispassionately. It is too late, way too late, I can hear my blood singing, and feel a beat of the rhythm only few can follow, and keep up with.

One. I reach him with a perfectly calibrated fade step, appearing right in front of the fleeing man.

Two. I dodge the poorly aimed blow of the knife he had managed to free from the sheath by the side of his belt.

Three. The side of my hand glows with icy blue aura, as I cut through his throat, then bones of the neck, and his head goes flying up in the air.

I rise from the half kneeling position my movements brought me to, sighing, and with a touch of disgust flit my hand to shake off the blood. I turn around, and take a look at the widened eyes of the child lying on the cold stones, clearly barely withholding her scream.

Now, what am I to do with you, little one?

I am completely at a loss, at first. The child doesn’t resist when I cover her with my coat, and pick her up gently, taking her with me to tavern. First things first, she could definitely use a bath, new clothes, and some food. Definitely food, as I can feel she is way too light for her age, even if the elven children tend to weight much less than human ones.

It is only once she is in the warm water, and begins to fully process the events, that the shaking starts. She clings to me desperately, crying out her fear and disgust. I awkwardly embrace her lithe body, with sudden dismay realizing I have no idea how to comfort her.

I have forgotten, in the war-wrought years, filled with sorrow and despair, how to do say these small, meaningful lies that help holding fears at bay. So I keep quiet, hoping that my presence will be enough, although I sincerely doubt it. She ought to have someone capable of more emotion by her side, and not this crippled, broken me.

By the meal I manage to get some information out of her. Her name is Valeria, and she was sold by her previous owner once her mother died, and he needed a quick cash for a new maid. Since she was young and untouched, she fetched a hefty price.

The people in the alley had been her new owners son and his friend. She was returning from the errand she was sent on, when they came up to her, drunk and full of lust. Apparently, her master was planning on saving her for someone important, and the two males wanted to… have some fun before that happened.

I swallow a wave of nausea at the thought. She cannot be older than fourteen, and already, she has experienced such terrifying events. It is disgusting.

Even more disgusting is how she speaks of it, in a matter of fact manner. Her mother’s death, as if it a mere practicality, an inconvenience, but not much else. Her circumstances as if it was par for the course, natural. In fact, she sounded almost hopeful of this man she was supposed to please. It seems as if the worst of this experience was that if she were to be defiled, she would have been of no interest to her prospective, new master. Aside from the terrifyingly dead bodies, afterwards, that is.

I walk out of the rooms thoroughly shaken, telling her to sleep. What can I do? She is beyond my help, beyond me, really. At this age, already, she has lost any sense of self-worth, self-respect. I do not know what sort of childhood resulted in that, but I already know, I am repulsed by it.

I am, also, wrongfully, repulsed by her, a bit. Everything within me rebels against such acceptance of the fate over her head. I know it is unfair of me, but I can’t help these feelings. My pride suffers at the mere thought.

Shartan, at the very least, fought. Although he also had no concept of self-regard, he still fought, even when he was much younger than her.   

Obviously, I cannot keep her with me. I am the last person who should, really. Not to mention, she should definitely disappear from Minrathous, remaining here would be way too dangerous, both for her, and for me, as they could wrangle my description from her. I have killed two freemen, not of particular importance, but nonetheless, the guard will at least attempt to find one responsible for it.

In the morning, after a sleepless night spent on planning, I arrange for both of us to leave, swiftly. We ride, hard, to Qarinus, a port town in eastern part of the empire. After four days of journey, I leave her in the care of a familiar, elderly couple. I know them to be a warm, kind people who could use some help around the house, and would provide her with much better care, both physical, and emotional, than I am capable of.

I believe the issue to be done and over with, as I proceed to the local inn, for a well-deserved rest, after past few days without so much as a wink.

I am utterly surprised to find the girl at my door the very next morning.

Her eyes are resolute, and lips drawn in a thin line, as she demands,

‘Take me with you.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like my lore related ramblings had gotten away from me, a little bit, in this chapter. Sorry if that bored you.  
> It is one of the reasons, though, why writing Fean'Na is so much fun. I can look through her eyes, and judge the past events, and Chantry, and everything, through her perception, which, incidentally, aligns with mine. Imagine that. 
> 
> AAAND the winner is... Alexstrasza, again! My friend, you got it quite right, we still have some time before the Inquisition. I do not mind at all your review, it is always nice hearing from you, not to mention, it is quite flattering you had chosen to read new chapter instead of sleeping. Only the most engrossing of fanfiction had that effect on me, so it is very pleasing to hear some of you consider mine in that category.
> 
> I'm a bit worried, as this and next few chapters are going to be completely original story arc, which is supposed to have a major impact on Fean'Na's character. I hope I do not screw it. It has been a while since there were no Bioware events to support my tale, I am, really, quite nervous, especially since I'm planning on introducing some OC's. Oh well. Keep your fingers crossed.


	19. Teaching Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ASSUMPTIONS:  
> 1\. Thedas is the sole continent, a whole world of DA.  
> 2\. Original Inquisition timeline is around 8 years, and not 2 years, like it is according to Wiki.

**Teaching Pride**

‘No’ comes my immediate response, as I brush by her, heading downstairs for a meal.

I do not have to think twice, it is singularly poor, terrible idea. Even disregarding my emotional inaptitude, of recent; I am leading a dangerous life, wholly unsuitable for a child. She will be much better off remaining with the people I have entrusted her to.

I repeatedly tell her that during the day, as she stalks me around, with persistence of a dog following its owner, and stubbornness of a mule.

The next day, I change my tactics. I had no intentions of remaining in Qarinus in the first place, so moving up my plans of departure is of little issue. I sternly tell Valeria that I am going back to Minrathous, where she would have been apprehended and most likely, either killed or sold again, and leave the city before midday.

It is late evening when I realize that she had managed to keep up with me, on a stolen horse, and now lingers within view of my camp, vigilant and watchful, so I do not slip away.

I must admit, her tenacity is unexpected. Still, I believe that she will give it up, soon, as I saw clearly that she is not only unused to riding, but also a city girl without much experience on the road. She will grow tired, and return.

Nevertheless, I take precaution in case she does not, and change my route so that instead of leading to Minrathous, it goes southward, and then east, intending to eventually circle back north to Qarinus through some of the rural areas there. It is relatively peaceful region, without many brigand gangs, as the people are too poor to attract their notice. These vultures lurk around more prominent towns, typically.

The next day I observe her covertly, taking in the grimaces on her face as her muscles protest the effort. Still, she persists, and I begrudgingly admit I have severely underestimated the child. She doesn’t try to get any food from me, in spite of her apparent hunger, satisfied with harvesting some wild berries for her whole meal.

I feel a pang of conscience, and am starting to worry about her fainting. The journey takes a lot of energy, and without sustenance it is only a matter of time before she falls over and hurts herself. With a sigh, I look through my bags, and in the evening come by her hiding place, leaving some provisions on the ground. I can hear her sharp intake of breath as I look directly into the spot where she is crouching near the ground, attempting to blend in with the terrain, and rise my eyebrow in mockery – did she really think I wouldn’t realize?

‘You are a couple decades too young to fool me, Da’len.’ I say softly, before returning to my fire.

The next day she stops pretending she is not following me, and by the evening we ride side by side.

‘Had enough of playing around?’ I ask, turning to her. She is slumping in the saddle as we cross the gates of Qarinus. Again. The rigid posture and strained muscles are clear indicators of exhaustion she is fighting, and pain she is trying to ignore.

She straightens, pretending she is perfectly fine, and shakes her head decisively. My conviction wavers, faced with her irrefutable determination; but the danger remains as it was before.

‘Let us make a deal, then. I’ll leave you here, for the time being’ I rise my hand to stop her protests before they even begin ‘and once I deem you capable of defending yourself, I’ll return, and allow you to accompany me.’

‘No fair!’ she scowls angrily, making the brown of her irises gleam, as if set on fire. ‘There’s no way I can learn that on my own!’

I smirk, having already anticipated that argument.

‘I know someone for the task.’

And I do, incidentally.

Local guard-captain is a Rivaini. The first time I was crossing through Qarinus, after exiting Arlathan forest, I’ve gotten a bit curious about this peculiarity. Typically, this prestigious post is reserved for the natives, even if the guard accepts foreigners among them. Therefore the man’s position was unusual, to say in the least.

Rivain is a small, not very influential county on the north-eastern edge of Thedas. They rebelled against the Empire’s dominion soon after Andraste’s March. They were the first land to be chipped away in such manner as a consequence of Empire’s losses, and definitely not the last, as many others, like Nevarra, also awakened their feelings of independence in the following ages. However, the separation had not served them all that well. The nation of dark-skinned people has been subject to many invasions and assaults.

As a result of Antiva’s recent, choke-like hold on the Rivain, ever since they expanded northward, pushing Tevinter away, Rivaini suffer many restrictions. I have no doubts that the merchant nation intends to swallow them, eventually, once they bleed out all of their resources trying to get past the blockage. Still, Rivaini are stubborn people, and do not take kindly to such attempts. I am of two minds who, in the end, will prove more perseverant.

If there’s one thing I deeply respect them for, is that they held onto their own beliefs, refusing to convert to Chant of Light. Considering my own feelings regarding the issue, I find it admirable that they had remained unswayed, even without such intricate knowledge, like mine.

The man in question had apparently gotten to the rank of lieutenant, and then defended city against a pirate raid. They pretended to be merchant vessel, and docked to the port, before trying, under the cover of the night, the usual stuff pirates do. Robbery and plunder. The previous guard-captain had lost his life during the skirmish, and he swiftly took charge, and proceeded to eliminate all of the attackers.

He goes by Riv, and I was unable to find out whether that’s his given name or alias. I suspect the latter, because, well, a Rivaini named Riv? Sounds ridiculous.

He has a stellar reputation among the citizens – aside from his womanizing, that is. But the women don’t complain, so as long as the affairs are consensual, no one holds it against him, too much. Riv is considered trustworthy, and a person who keeps his word, once given.

A perfect person for my needs.

At first, he rejects my proposal, of course. A girl among the recruits? Asking for trouble. And he has enough of that without adding to the plate, thank you very much.

But I can be quite convincing, if I need be, and considerable amount of coin never goes amiss in these types of negotiations.

‘Let’s be reasonable here, I’m not asking for you to accept her as one of the potential guards!’ I roll my eyes at the thought. No, Valeria is not a guard material, with her thieving tendencies she would be thrown out during first week. ‘Merely to train her. She will stay outside the barracks, the only thing I need of you is to train her and not go easy on her. You know as well as I do, that most women would benefit greatly from such training.’

His eyes flash angrily at that, and I am even more convinced that he is just right for the role. It is unusual for one so free with his lifestyle to respect women to such degree, but I seem to have encountered a rare gem. I know he wouldn’t let Valeria be mistreated.

‘I can’t deny, even though we do our best to keep the streets safe, there are still mongrels that escape our attention.’ He rumbles, and I know I had nearly got him.

‘Not to mention, there’s a chance she won’t last. The training is quite harsh, after all. If she decides to leave, I won’t keep that against you.’

He brightens at that, some of his worries dissuaded, and accepts the coin, shaking my hand to seal the deal.

Truth to be told, I doubt that will come about. The girl is, for some unfathomable reason, really certain of her resolution, remarkable really, considering her youth.

Of course, it would be much better if she did, indeed, give it up. I have quite a few, justified, doubts regarding my capability of taking care of anyone – a growing, temperamental child in particular. But I have promised, and she might change her mind in the months to come, when she will be surrounded by warmth and care and affection of the people I’m leaving her with.

I talk with Valeria’s caretakers afterwards, and ask them for patience with her. The elderly woman smiles without condemnation, and reassures me that they will do their best by her, for however long I, or she, needs. I talk with the girl herself, afterwards, and tell her that she is to follow Riv’s instructions, and that I’ll be back to check on her. She looks at me seriously, and demands,

‘Swear to me. That you will return, and take me, if I become good.’

‘More than good. Good is not enough, it gets you killed.’ I rise my eyebrow expectantly, with a warning sternness in my voice, and she rapidly nods, with suddenly hopeful look to her eyes.

‘I swear in…’ what could I swear by, that would convince her? The Elvhen do not worship Creators anymore, but I want to the promise to hold true value. ‘…in Fen’Harel’s name.’ I swallow my guilt at using Fen’s name in such manner. And I haven’t even been to him yet, during this time! What a poor friend I make, and yet, in times of need, I still reach to his memory, like that.

‘My mother used to say that that children who don’t listen get taken away by Fen’Harel’ says Valeria, and I feel a sudden pain in my heart at how the truth of him got distorted. Mangled. I hope that he will never find out the true extent of it. Elves curse with his name, pray he doesn’t find them, warn against him.

It is all so very wrong.

‘Your mother was wrong. Fen’Harel is a god of rebellion, he wouldn’t waste time like that.’ I correct, forcefully keeping my voice neutral, holding all of my complicated emotions at bay, so that they don’t come pouring out.

‘Why would you follow a god of rebellion?’ She asks, and I can see, she is truly curious.

‘Is there anyone else worth following?’ 

I can tell she is confused. Ah well, I didn’t expect her to understand that, not really.  

Pride and rebellion are close, and for me, being proud meant rebelling, usually. It can be, and often is, an outlet of pride, for others too. Not in all circumstances, of course, they’re not equal, in the end. But close.

It is not always wise, not always reasonable… But considering the current, fallen times, what is left, but rebellion? Rebellion against the reality. And keeping your neck straight, as you spit in the face of danger, and fear. And weakness.

It means taking an active stance and trying to change things, instead of passively accepting them, as they come. I was always poor at remaining inactive, my days during Twilight, when I was being torn apart by my indecisiveness, a proof of that. Even know, with my heart frozen, I am constantly on the move, battling against my own weakness.

Yet something awakened within me, during that encounter with Valeria, when I couldn’t walk by, and during the following days. I cannot define it, yet, but it makes me restless, pushes me into more action, impatiently. I do not know whether this change within me will progress in a good, or bad direction, whether it will pull me out of the hole I buried myself in, or push me further down.

I am a far cry from the passionate Pride who argued endlessly with Shartan, certainly, but it is some change, and any is welcome. I have grown tired of myself, and my detachment.

After all is dealt with, I depart from Qarinus, in the way of Minrathous. However, I cannot help feeling curious about the stubborn Da’len, elven child whom I left behind. And after so long of forcing myself to take interest in anything, it is a breath of fresh air, a relief, to finally, really, want something. After a bit of internal struggle, I decide to indulge, cultivate this impulse, and I secretly make my way back to the city.

I observe her for a few days, concealing myself with ease, as she has no reasons to expect my presence. And I could hide away even from Fen. Well, sometimes. On the better days. And if it was his worse one.

 She diligently attends the training sessions, beginning with first light each day, in spite of the bruises and obvious pain. Valeria bites the dust on the training mats each day, against the much stronger than her opponents, and cannot keep up with them during strength exercises.

They’re similar of age, her and the Shemlen boys, but both the gender and race make all the difference.

She is not welcome among them, many slurs and insults coming her way. They feel that she impairs their own training, and do not hesitate to express their dislike of that, and her. Yet, with Riv keeping a careful watch, it never goes past words, and no one actively hurts her. He will not interfere a step further, however, as it is not his role to smother the recruits – and also, because he most likely hopes it will rid him of her.

Still, I scowl as she accepts their undue criticism without a word, lowering her head. Really, could she have any less faith in herself? But she keeps returning, and after a week, I am certain.

It looks like she will fulfil her end of the bargain, and earn the right to remain by my side.

I have a healthy dose of respect for her determination. Now, if she only understood pride, as well, we could get along splendidly. Alas, the world was never keen on making my life easier, and throws my way the child who lacks an essential, from my viewpoint, characteristic, all the while being too stubborn for its own good.

Well then, I’ll just have to teach her the meaning of it, then.

My curiosity sated, I return to Minrathous, and try to get a feel of the city. Is the search for me still on, in spite of lack of any witnesses? The guards are certainly on a slightly higher alert, while patrolling the streets, and regretfully, I refrain from the usual Senate roof climbing. It is too dangerous, for now, when they are being more watchful.

I get in contact with information dealers, unobtrusively gather more intelligence regarding the ongoing investigation. It is an interesting game to play, when I try to wrangle as much as I can from them for the coin I pay, while they try to figure out why I’m asking the questions I do, and what is it that I’m after. A bit nerve-wrecking, as I look into their shifty eyes, far too observant and watchful for anyone’s comfort. It is what their livelihood is about, so it is not overly surprising that they are masters at reading people, but I do not have to like that. However, years of life in deceit, by June’s side, made me a master of masking my feelings like no other, and I’m certain I haven’t betrayed myself to them, in any way.

I suspect every city has people like that, who know much and are willing to share it, for a price. There are five information dealers in Minrathous, all of them with obscure connections stretching everywhere, favours owed and owned. They’re far from omniscient, but they have means of finding out things, beyond my comprehension. It is an interesting, and profitable, but dangerous, trade, and people involved in it are balancing on a very thin line, each day of their lives. Are they still useful, or have they offended someone powerful too much to survive another night?

The last one I visit, Archivist, catches my interest. Surprisingly grey hair betray the age past prime, and at the same time, are an indication of his professionality, as few remain in the position for as long as he did. He has an understated wisdom to his demeanour, and atypical warmth, hidden in the gleam of his eyes. It could be a front, however, so I keep my guard up, even as I inquire about a mercenary work, available.

He rattles of a few notable offers, observing my reactions closely. I keep my face under control, rejecting the first few proposals which seem shifty or relating in any way to slavers, before accepting a protection detail to Nevarra. I ought to disappear from the vicinity for a while, and let the storm blow over.

I take many jobs, afterwards, and not only from Archivist but from his competitors as well, cautiously testing the waters of Minrathian underworld. It is hard to judge, at first, which groups are criminals, and which are related to the anti-slavery movements. To make issues more muddled, a lot of ex-slaves become brigands, after gaining their freedom, making my search even harder. I carefully prod many avenues, all the while trying to avoid the scrutiny of authorities.

After amassing some more cash, though I have no need of it, I acquire a small house on the outskirts, tired of constantly staying in the taverns, although I continue dropping by for meals. I am way too lazy to deal with cooking for myself, when I am not travelling.

It does not feel like home, but it is something to return to.

After half a year, pulled by my conscience, I return to port town of Qarinus. I had sworn, after all.

I walk through the typically for Tevinter low town of caramel stone, directing my steps to Valeria’s new home, firstly. The elderly couple are full of praise for the girl, but they inform me that she has been awaiting me, every day, and rigorously keeping up with the training. Even now, she is with the recruits.

I am not surprised.

I go to the training grounds, next. At first, Valeria does not realize my scrutiny, and I intend to keep it that way, for a while. She has improved, a lot, but also, apparently, not enough. She is too weak to draw a bow Riv assigned her as a training weapon for more than a handful of times, and her stamina also leaves much to be desired.

Her relationship with the remainder of the recruits has not improved, at all, and I grimace at the disdainful words sent her way. I had not believed it would, but still, I had hoped.

Finally, with a greeting nod in Riv’s direction, I enter the training grounds, with a wave of my hand announcing my presence to the child. She visibly perks up, but finishes her set of stretches, and awaits the official end of the training, albeit a touch impatiently, before running my way.

I take her to the port, making meaningless small talk on the way. Is she treated well? How are her new guardians? How’s the weather here?

All the while, I am trying to come up with a way to soften the message I am going to deliver.

She cuts through our blather, clearly having grown tired of answering things I do not really care about too much, and looking at me with shadowed eyes, while asking,

 ‘Are you going to take me with you?’ But there’s no hope in her voice, only resignation. Sighing, I shake my head, neutrally confirming her suspicions,

‘You aren’t strong enough.’

She slumps, but doesn’t protest my words, well aware of her shortcomings. I breathe in the salty air, watching the waves splashing the pier with water, before inquiring, as nonchalantly as possible,

‘Why do you allow the other recruits to treat you like that?’ I do not want her to feel even worse, after finding out I am not taking her along, this time, but the reality chafes at me. I do not like seeing her cowering, and accepting the unfair judgement without any defence, or rejection.

‘Because they are right, and I am worthless.’ She replies evenly, and I flinch both at the words, and the lifeless tone with which they’re spoken.

‘None of my masters wanted me. The first one kept me around only because he liked my mother, the second only because he could offer me elsewhere.’ Tears glisten in her eyes, and she raises her voice, looking at me in dejection, ‘And now, even though you are so wonderful, and beautiful, and strong, and you saved me, gave me a new life, and I am grateful, but you also do not want me!’

Fuck. I walked into that. The worst of all, it is not untrue. I do not want her, and the reasons why I am here are my conscience, demanding I take responsibility for my actions fully, after the initial interference, my curiosity, because she is unusual, but mostly, because I had promised her. And my pride wouldn’t allow me to back out on the promise, however hastily, irresponsibly made.

I run a hand through my wind-tussled hair, a bit desperately trying to find a way out of this bind. Lying isn’t it, that’s for certain, and so I cannot pretend, deny her judgement, falsely reassure her. It would bring more harm than good, in the long run.

‘You see, Da’len…’ it is hard to begin, as I hadn’t thought on having this conversations now, not for many years, and certainly never in such circumstances. ‘If we want others to care about us, want us, then we must begin with ourselves. Unless you want, and like, yourself, you have no chance of convincing others of that.’ I am oversimplifying it, vastly, for the benefit of the child. There are many more things that can influence it, but in most cases, it is true enough. People cowering in the corners tend to get overlooked in favour of prouder personalities, standing tall, and those demeaning themselves, get demeaned by others.

She mulls over my words, with her arms crossed defensively.

‘What do you like about yourself, Valeria?’ I inquire, after a moment of silence.

Valeria purses her lips, before asking,

‘What do **you** like about me?’

‘No, Da’len, no shifting responsibility. Think on it’ I encourage her. ‘There must be something.’

I wait patiently, as she kicks the stone around, lost in thought.

‘I like that I got you to make the promise with me.’ She says hesitantly, after a good ten minutes, once I’ve grown worried the answer will still be ‘nothing’.

‘Perseverance’ I tell her, and her eyes widen. ‘It is a good trait, one we share in common, in fact.’

‘We do?’ She sounds surprised, and delighted, by this.

‘Oh yes.’ I laugh quietly, reminiscing the first time I was trapped in Thedas. It took me forty years, but I got out, in the end, didn’t I? At least for a while.

‘See, there’s something of worth, in you. Cherish it, and be proud of it. Learn to like yourself, through it, and then, others will like you, too.’ And hopefully, with time, there will be more things that you will see of value in yourself, but we have to begin somewhere. And then, once you see the value, we will begin speaking more of pride.

‘Will you?’ She looks at me with intensity. I feel a stab of pain, unusually clear, after years of indifference, as I see that she is trying to be not too hopeful about that, but fails, and this hope gleams, from within her. She looks so vulnerable, so fragile, and so sweet, I answer with a helpless,

‘Yes.’

She smiles, shyly and uncertainly; but genuinely, so genuinely and earnestly it changes her beyond recognition, sparkling a light within her. I look at her, and my heart melts, the ice in it melts, and the wall around it crumbles, comes crashing down.

I blink rapidly, to stop the tears from flowing, as I feel the sudden rush of emotion, an unexpected wave of tenderness overwhelming me.

After years of being frozen, and cold, so very cold, the spring has come, even for me.

I am astonished. It seems that by saving this child, I had also, accidentally, saved myself.

What a miracle a single, disinterested act of compassion can bring. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a bit worried about this one, I hope you will like it. It is of a more positive vibe, as Fean'Na starts to recover, and will get better, in this arc. But I was soo tired of her being so unfeeling, and how could I write anymore angst, when she was so cold and disintered? 
> 
> This chapter is for jxynie. You made me very happy with your heartfelt endorsement, I have read through your review many times over, it warms my heart - and helped me through the tender parts of this chapter. In reply to your lack of lore certainty, let me draw you a timeline, which I have made for myself, before:  
> 9:19 Fean’Na back in Thedas  
> 9:20 Celene gets throne  
> 9:21 Meeting with Valeria  
> we are between year 9:21 and 9:22 now.  
> 9:30-31 Blight in Ferelden (DAO)  
> 9:41 Inquisition is formed (DAI prologue)  
> As you can easily see, it is still quite some time before we get to the Inquisition. And a few adventures. 
> 
> Warning: Bioware Rant ahead.  
> I was pretty happy with the scope of the Inquisition. It was really nice, embodying the important leader of an organization who was capable of influencing World’s highest leadership. BUT.  
> Then they released the Trespasser, and screwed it up. You might have noticed the new Assumptions posted in the very beginning of each chapter. That is because while I had not realized it at first, once I’ve read through the Wiki, and remembered more from the game, I became very pissed off, that all the Original Inquisition events took place during only 2 years.  
> I mean, think on it. You are visiting multiple locations in two countries, and dispatching your people to a handful more. You stop the civil war, and prepare an assault for a fortress, and muster and army and do a shitton of other stuff along the way. Have many dignitaries visit you, sit judgment and, the personal quests of the companions.  
> I was pissed that the Blight took only a year (DAO), but when you think on it, there were only three factions there that you had to get to listen to you, and they were all vitally interested, and convinced of the necessity of dealing with the Blight, in the first place. Also, you were doing nothing else BUT getting them to listen. Not completely inconceivable, even if a bit unlikely. Here, most of the people do not even believe in the threat Corypheous poses! Once the Breach is mostly sealed, they’re happy to look the other way, chancellor Roderic was only convinced once he saw an army on his doorstep! Think on all these people who didn’t see it -> they would be happy to go about their lives as usual, of course.  
> Summarizing, I think Bioware’s time assumptions when it comes to Inquisition are bullshit. And so – warning – I am going to ignore them. If anyone wants to depend on Wiki to try and predict what’s coming Fean’Na’s way, and when, well, sorry, you’ve been warned – it will not be reliable source to look up.


	20. Impulsive Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ASSUMPTIONS:  
> 1\. Thedas is the sole continent, a whole world of DA.  
> 2\. Original Inquisition timeline is around 8 years, and not 2 years, like it is according to Wiki.

**Impulsive Pride**

I am decidedly flustered by the newly awakened feelings. And frightened, and unbalanced, and out of control. Once the initial relief passes, I feel unpleasant rush, assaulted by the random observations I did not care to make before, and they are quite distracting.

I take Valeria back to her guardians, and go for a long walk, hoping to clear my head.

Everything seems somehow more radiant than before, as I am able to perceive things more keenly. The whipping cold of evening breeze, a glitter of the red sunset on the waves, creating a strange contrast against the dark green of the sea. Qarinus glows from the distance with a light of torches held by the patrols, and the smaller ones, from the candles still alight at homes.

It is all sharper, hard edged and deeply settled, and with a constricted heart, I miss the Fade, and how it made everything less defined, blurring it slightly. Reminding with each breath that but a spark of fantasy, work and patience, and Thedas could be reshaped. It was a thing to behold, the magic enlivening the air.

Gone now, for centuries, millennia. But I miss it all the same.

My mind is still in turmoil, and head still a mess, by the time I return to my rooms at the tavern. But I accept, grudgingly, it will stay like that for a while. I need to learn how to deal with it all anew, now. But I feel confident about mustering them under my command, I had spent years in Arlathan in complete control over my expressiveness, holding my desires on a tight leash. It is only a question of recalling that.

I remain in Qarinus, to the delight of Valeria, during the next weeks, as well. There are no pressing matters waiting for me in Minrathous, and considering the chaotic disarray I find myself in, taking on any challenges would prove hazardous. Instead, I willingly spend some more time with the child, admitting before myself that I am growing fond of her, more with each passing day. Mindful of my words, she tries to see her perseverance as something positive, and the effects of it are already visible. Her posture is straighter, and more readily she looks into the eyes of others when she speaks. Just a touch of confidence, but it makes all the difference.

I observe her practices for a while, to get a better grasp at what she lacks, and give her some pointers. I do so openly, this time, and the teenage boys are quite enamoured with a female observing their efforts, and strive to impress me. I watch over their antics with hidden amusement, as the hormones drive them to make a right fools out of themselves, like by tripping over their feet when they get too distracted, and other, similar occurrences.

But not everyone is pleased with the situation, and one day, I am accosted in my corner by a very stern looking, burly male, responsible for overseeing the morning part of the exercises.

‘I have seen you, skulking around, lately.’ He growls, and I turn my gaze away from Valeria’s stretches, and onto the plain displeasure on his face.

‘Skulking?’ I repeat after the male derisively, my pride offended. Had I, as he said, skulked, he certainly wouldn’t have been capable of noticing me!

My plain disdain, obviously, does nothing to appease his anger, and I brace myself, awaiting an inevitable outburst.

‘You elven bitch, don’t get mouthy with me! I…’ he shuts up rapidly, at the booming voice coming from behind him.

‘Is there a problem, Sergeant? The incited male whips around, paling, and I also look up, at the large, black male with crossed arms, and irritated frown.

Riv is not impressed, not at all. His handsome features are marred by the grimace, as he looks piercingly at the man. I allow myself a slight smile, and relax my posture from the battle-ready alertness, electing to enjoy the imminent dressing down.  

Sergeant cowers under the weighty gaze of his superior, and replies, with a bit of nervous stutter,

‘Sir! This… elf… female watches the training, captain, sir.’

‘And how, exactly, is that a problem? The training grounds are not restricted from citizen access.’ Riv’s voice seems soft, and silky, but underneath it, a dangerous edge can be heard, and the squirming man scrambles for response.

‘Her presence distracts the recruits!’

‘If they are so easily distracted then they will be dead, with first sign of trouble. And I believe it is **your** duty, Sergeant, to make sure they remain focused.’ Riv’s glare intensifies, and his subordinate averts his gaze, flushing from shame at the pointed reproof.

‘See that you attend to your duties with more dedication, in the future. Dismissed.’ 

Sergeant wastes no time, and with a brisk pace, he marches away, shouting at the recruits to finish up and assemble in line. Riv merely sighs and shakes his head, turning to face me, and speaking in common,

‘Please, refrain from annoying my underling too much, they’re a hassle enough already, without adrenaline rushes muddling their heads.’

‘I will, as long as they refrain from annoying **me**.’ I reply evenly, unconcerned.

He cocks his head with sudden interest.

‘So sure you could take him on?’

‘Oh, **yes**. Definitely.’ My voice leaves no doubts regarding my certainty. I’ve watched him, unintentionally, as I watched the recruits, and the Sergeant is nothing special. Well ingrained basics, but little else, no creativity, or talent, or flair, which sometimes is just as good as natural inclinations.

‘Hmm. Care to validate that claim, against, perhaps, slightly tougher competition?’

I smile ferociously, inordinately pleased by the offer. Riv takes it in a spirit of agreement, and soon, we find ourselves on the ring, observers cheering us on. I find Valeria in the crowd, and wave to her cheerfully, before turning to face my opponent.

At first, he underestimates me, and falls on flat on his face, as I use this mercilessly against him, placing a well pointed blow on his knee, making him completely lose his balance. He picks himself up promptly, and with a feral grin, charges at me, this time, seriously. I welcome his assault with a smile of my own, also focusing more seriously on the fight.

It is a pleasure to spar with someone again, even if, in spite of his rigorous training, Riv stands no chance against me. He is too heavy and awkward to deal with my kind of fighting skills, although his fortitude is enviable. Not that it is surprising, guard are trained as potential soldiers, which means they are capable of remaining in formation and sustaining the line. I am an assassin, capable of taking out single targets, but disadvantaged at larger battlefields with multiple threats, vulnerable to a strike in the back when I’m focusing on my target.

By the time we finish, people surrounding us fall completely silent, in astonishment, as Riv had failed to make me yield, even once. As I was beginning to wear down – his stamina is not something to scoff at – he had managed to land a few blows with a training sword on me, which, I know, will leave nice purple bruises for the next days. But he hadn’t managed to route me, in spite of them.

He scowls, just a bit, at such utter defeat, but takes it generally in a good humour.

‘Maybe you ought to take my place, here.’

‘Gods preserve me, no, never!’ I laugh, waving the joking offer off. His position requires way too much involvement in local politics, haranguing with nobility. He cannot really decide too much, as the guard falls under the control of Qarinus Senator. Not to mention, it would force me to remain in one place for far too long. I would hate it.

I can see Valeria’s eyes gleam with pride at my win and feel a soft smile bloom on my face, as I jump over the fence of the fighting ring, and draw her to my side. Keeping her in a half-hug, I take her out on the meal, during which I tell her of my thoughts on what she could do to improve.

I leave a few days later, entrusting her, once again, to her guardian’s and Riv’s care, who still has this look of disbelief whenever he looks at me. I do not go directly to Minrathous, choosing to drop by my sanctuary on the way, getting some more savings from my stash. I need to make my home slightly more prepared, if Valeria is to live there, even if I do not expect us to stay there for prolonged periods of time.

I easily fall back into my habits of rather selective mercenary work, all the time on the lookout for those jobs more closely related to the slaves. This is what holds my interest, after all.

A few months later, Minrathous is in buzz. People speak in hushed voices about the kidnapping of Magister’s child, and it is such a change in the usually more placid game among the Magisters, I am intrigued. Mostly, because the slaves appear unusually supportive of the person whom the whole affair concerns, and such attitude towards a member of Magisterium is unexpected, to say in the least.  

It is dangerous to involve myself in such power squabbles, but I am interested. Finally, I make my way to the most trustworthy – which is not saying much, as the standard is not very high – information broker in the city.

‘What do you know of Magister Tessarian Lucanus?’ I ask Archivist, who frowns, but accepts my coin, and proceeds with quite comprehensive report about the man, and his recent activities. Before he finishes, I already have a good idea why the kidnapping happened, and why the slaves are so sympathetic, even if I still do not know who would have the guts to do such thing.  

‘There’s no reward posted’ he points out, at the end, even though I had not specified why I am interested. Well, he is deals in information, it is only expected he is able to pick up on the rather obvious connection.

‘Indeed.’ I murmur distractedly, thinking fast, disregarding a strange gleam in his eyes at my dismissive reaction.

Who would dare such a thing, against a close friend of an Archon, and a mage of considerable power and influence, no less? While they might not always see eye to eye, in all issues, they’ve known each other since childhood, and support each other often in the Magisterium. It is no secret.

I have no doubts that the Magister is well aware who is responsible for the act. Even if no demands have been made, the culprit’s identity would be enough to tell him what they want of him. For me, there’s only one possible reason: ever since he had freed his mistress, and she has borne him a child, Tessarian has been making a lot of noise about restoring the old traditions, forbidding from using blood of others in rituals. He has many solid arguments in favour of that, and slowly, he has been swaying others to his cause.

The fact that there’s no reward tells me that Tessarian worries about the life of his child. What is interesting is that no recovery attempt had been made; it means that he feels his opponent is stronger than him, or just very dangerous and unstable, in general.

It is clear that whoever had done it must be either unbelievably well connected, or arrogant. Most likely, both, because he thinks he can avoid Tessarian’s wrath after the whole affair is done and over with. I personally rather doubt it. No Magister of any worth would let an insult of such magnitude slide, even if they perceive opponent stronger than them, they would still strive to get even. And Tessarian is not your average Magister, too.

With a resigned sigh, I decide that there are far too many who fit such vague description, in the Magisterium, and would gladly see Tessarian’s reform fall through. I look up at the patiently observing me Archivist, and finally catch onto the slight, knowing smirk on his face.

‘You wouldn’t happen to hear anything **else** of interest? ’ I ask silkily, taking a small gem out of my pouch. It is worth a small fortune, but surprisingly, he doesn’t seem at all perturbed by the wealth on his table. Instead, he firmly pushes the gem back to me, replying,

‘The whole Magisterium has been in uproar, denouncing the one responsible for the terrible deed these past few days. All commiserate with Magister’s Tessarian’s plight.’

Which means, no.

I take back my gem, glancing at him searchingly, and with a bit of disgruntlement.

Had I misjudged? I could have sworn he knows more than that, one of the best informed people in the city.

Stifling my disappointment, I start walking out. However, by the door, I am stopped by his voice,

‘Curiously, apprentice Hadriana had missed her weekly appointment at the Scholae.’

I whip around, but he seems engrossed in the papers in front of him, as if he hadn’t spoken. I nod my gratitude, suddenly understanding why he had not accepted my payment – it wouldn’t be safe for him to get involved. Now, he’ll be able to pretend he hadn’t said anything, and I’ll still have enough coin to ask around, diverting the attention from him.

Very wise of him. Magister Danarius, Hadriana’s Master, is not known for his benevolence.

I am about to pull the doorknob open, when he adds, so quietly it barely carries,

‘The Ghost was also absent from Minrathous, these past few days.’

I freeze at the warning, before proceeding to leave his office.

It is a warning I am grateful for.

Lyrium Ghost, typically shortened to just Ghost, is a young slave serving under Danarius who had earned himself a terrifying reputation, ever since he has begun his activities. They say he had won the right to the ritual, engraving of lyrium tattoos right into his skin, through a bloody tournament. Magister was looking for someone strong enough to survive the process, and he had found it in the Ghost. Ever since, he has been wreaking terror in the hearts of nobility, as well as members of Magisterium, though the latter do not care to admit that.

An assassin, and a bodyguard, these are the roles he plays by Danarius’ side, and proficiently. His owner seems to have him completely under control, a tamed beast he turns against the others.

I cannot comprehend why anyone would feel loyalty to such master. Danarius is well known for his disregard of will of others, and unusual cruelty displayed towards his slaves. He exploits them pitilessly, and many end up dead in his service. Ghost’s obedience is beyond me, though, I suspect, that the Magister broke him, and his will, entirely. If so, I do not feel that Ghost deserves my compassion, as in result of his weakness, many others suffer, now.

If, indeed, Danarius was the one to steal away Tessarian’s child, it would be possible only through the Ghost’s unique abilities. And it would explain father’s reluctance to challenge back for the child, because the slave was trained in a very specific way – he is a mage killer, first and foremost. Lyrium in his skin grants him partial immunity to all afflictions, and resistance for spells, and close up, no Magister can survive him. Or at least, that’s what the rumours say.

However, it doesn’t discourage me, in fact, I revel in the challenge. Danarius, while certainly capable, couldn’t have arranged too many people to watch over the kidnapped child. It would be basically screaming out his guilt, and inviting Archon’s intervention, whose hands are tied, for the moment, without any proof.

Even he wouldn’t have survived that, regardless of his privileged position within the court, and support of Archon’s wife. Kidnapping of an official heir of the house Lucanus, no matter how much scorned the boy is among the nobility, as a child of former slave, is not something that would have, could have, been ignored.

Similarly, I doubt he had managed to smuggle the child very far away. Hadriana’s missing her meeting is a confirmation of that theory; he had arranged for his trusted second to deal with it, all the while providing her with support of the person whose absence is easily explained. The Ghost had often had long missions, away from his master’s side, so it is not quite so suspicious.

I use the saved up gem to get more liquid currency, and proceed to find out everything I can about the woman. By the evening, I already have a decent idea of where the child might be held, and how to proceed.

I spend the night observing the mansion in question, on the outskirts of the Minrathous, a good few hours away from the center of the town, and almost directly opposite to the estate of Tessarian. Well chosen, and defended. The gates and grounds are carefully watched, as well the walls from three sides. The fourth one is a dangerous cliff, near impassable.

No way for a group of people to sneak through. Entirely different matter for a single, soundless person, with a passion for climbing.

The next day I spend preparing the escape route, and a disguise, a cover for my head, face, and for my rather characteristic and noticeable hair, which have a frustrating tendency to gleam in light, and a thick cape to obscure my figure. I have only one shot at this, and not much time before Tessarian is driven to accept the offered bargain for the life of his son.

In the meantime, I ponder on Archivist’s motivations. He had taken a risk, one he did not have to. Why? Is he an enemy of Danarius? It wouldn’t have been surprising, as the man seems to invite a lot of these. Or maybe is he in Tessarian’s employ? The support of the Magister would certainly explain how he had survived for so long. Or possibly, is he sympathetic towards Tessarian’s initiative?

I have no way of being certain, but the theories allow me to stave off the boredom of the menial, mindless preparations.

Come nightfall, I scale up the dangerous cliff, trying to save up on mana as much as possible, and lie in wait for the patrols to pass. Then, noiselessly, I sneak onto the roof of the mansion, and then down through one of the open windows, inside, and start searching around. The eastern wing appears empty, save sleeping Hadriana. I fight off the temptation of going after her, aware that the Magisters have a nasty tendency of instinctively trapping their rooms. I could, most likely, get a feel for most of the traps, but with my impaired vision, it would require a careful aura manipulation – and I’ve no time.

I proceed to the Western part of the house, and become so engrossed in the search, it nearly costs me my life. Fortunately, the quiet footsteps behind my back are not as soundless as mine, and alert me of the hostile presence. I barely dodge, rolling on the carpet, and feeling a swoosh of air as a large sword passes right over my body. Fluidly, I stand up from the crouch, swirling on the spot, and face off against the legendary Ghost, a white haired male elf with silvery markings, glowing brightly against his dark skin.

He is good. Frighteningly good. I had thought the stories of him to be exaggerated, as rumours usually are. In this case, however, they were almost an understatement.

Lyrium, etched into him, allows him to keep up with my lethal speed, normally exceeding that of most immortals, not to mention Shems. I’ve never met anyone capable of that, ever – not even Fen, though he came close – and it makes me consider just how much my impaired leg is affecting me. I believed I am nearly as fast as I used to be, but this encounter forces me to rethink it. I refuse to accept a young mortal capable of exceeding Fen’s years of practice and natural, wolfish reflexes, no matter what the ritual had done to him.

 He is also much stronger, a male of considerable musculature for an elf, with his double-handed sword allowing him a greater reach. I am at a disadvantage, mismatched – I am much more effective in dealing with unarmoured opponents, or those with less natural fortitude.

However, he is also very young, and that gives me an edge, like the one Shartan had over me. His moves are predictable, in my mind, I am two steps ahead of him, planning and anticipating where his blows will land. Soon, I manage to create a chance for me to land a strike.

It would have been fatal, if not for his instinct, which makes him jerk away the moment he feels the touch of fade digging into his skin. But because it is thoughtless, it is also uncontrolled, and in his effort to get away, he crashes into the window. Glass cracks under his weight, and he falls on the courtyard below us, amidst sparkling shards, reflecting moonlight above.

I look down on him, as he clutches onto the wounded side, feeling blood dripping from my fingers, since I had nearly gutted him, and hesitate for a second. I could finish him off, right here and now. It would be, certainly, a major blow to Danarius’ power base, and authority. It would also be a favour for the world, putting down this feral beast. His deeds for his master had already grown into legend, and it has been barely a few years, since the ritual which made him what he is today succeeded.

But the commotion we caused had already alerted the guards. If I follow him down, it will be at the cost of my original purpose of arriving here, and I’ll be unable to get out the child. In the end, the Lyrium Ghost is not important, not in the large scheme of things. Danarius will remain dangerous, with or without him, and although ridding the world of this pathetic creature would bring me personal satisfaction, I have no doubts such chance might occur, one day, again.

Decisively, I turn away, and use Fade to speed up my movements, rapidly searching through the rooms to find the child. I find him, finally, near the northern part of the manor, having wasted a few precious minutes. Time is ticking away, and I can hear the tumult of the footsteps. Hushing the boy, I quickly pull him into my arms, and keeping one hand around his side, I open the window, and with some effort scale the wall, onto the roof.

I bless my fortune he is only five, and therefore, light. Had he been any heavier, this whole thing would have been impossible. Even still, it is considerable effort, pulling him alongside, when I fade step onto the walls surrounding the estate.  

The manor has been positioned defensively, against the cliff, and would be able to withstand a small army’s invasion. However, that turns to my advantage, as, according to the plan, I end up on the wall just above the chasm. Securing my hold on the child, I jump down, using fade energies to propel my flight path, and slow down the descent.

Had I not practiced climbing with Fen, and then, later, in Minrathous, in such way, for years, I would have not dared doing it. It is all about balancing the gravity, normally, to push yourself upwards or sideways, and with practice, allows scaling buildings and mountains with unreal speed, both up and down.

I haven’t seen anyone else use it, though – I suspect it is because failure results in heavy injuries, possibly, death. No one is that keen on practicing it. I had Fen guiding me. Then again, people can be rather closeminded when it comes to the way they use their aura, unable to deviate from the tried patterns. It is just as possible they do not think it possible. And I was rather keen on inventing creative ways of using my magic, with the conventional things closed before me.

Even with my mastery over the control of my aura, it is still unbelievably risky, with a ballast. He whimpers, quietly, terrified by the speed of our fall, and I grunt slightly, using the force of my magic to push us away from the rocky cliff, and then, channelling my mana nearly dry, I create a burst of magic to counter our crash. I really ought to use both hands doing that, but with one securing the boy by my side, it is rather inelegantly done, and it sends both of us tumbling sideways. I groan at the pain, as the application of power dislocated my shoulder.

Rather careless of me, to not account sufficiently for the impact his weight would have on the fall. Still, we are alive, luckily, and the shoulder is not much of an issue. It will heal.

I pick up the still shaking from fear, and slightly bruised child, and put him in the saddle of a mount I had led down here earlier in the day. Hopping on behind him, I immediately pull the horse into gallop, in the direction of the next stop on my route, where another mount awaits.

This is the easy part, where I change the mounts, and ride fast and hard through the empty outskirts of the city, until I stop right next to the Lucanus estate. I use similar means to sneak into the estate, not interested in alerting anyone of my presence, and swiftly, find myself in front of the master bedroom. At the sound of opening door, quite handsome, if tired looking man rises head up from the desk. Clearly, he had a sleepless night, one of many, judging by the circles under his eyes. Unsurprising.

‘What… who…’ The words die on his lips as I rise up my cape, and with a squeal, the boy runs to his father. I turn away, intending to leave, from the corner of my eye seeing as the Magister clutches onto his precious son, and his arms shake in uncontrollable emotion. But he notices, and stops me from departing, rising up his head, where unshed tears gleam in his eyes, and asks,

‘What do I call you?’

I hesitate. I hadn’t planned on remaining, as my time is slipping, still. Nor I had planned on revealing that. But it might prove useful, at some point, in the future. A favour owed by a Magister might not go amiss.

‘I go by Quicksilver’ I reply, referring to the title I always give during my mercenary jobs. I do not like to give my name out, knowing that if I slip, and am forced to run, it would mean forsaking it forever. This way, I am a bit, partially, protected from such circumstances. I have no attachment to Quicksilver, and she can disappear at any minute.

‘Thank you, then, Quicksilver. I cannot even begin…’ He draws a shallow, thick breath, his voice quivering with emotion, and gratitude, as he cradles the boy’s small body in his arms. He clears his throat a moment later, stating officially,

‘There will be a reward, of course.’

I snort.

‘Do you honestly believe I’ve taken such risk for a promise of coin?’ Incredulity colours my voice.

He frowns, surprised.

‘Why then?’

I consider my answer thoughtfully, before replying calmly,

‘Your actions have made you a lot of enemies, Magister, powerful ones. But also… you have gained a lot of friends. In unexpected places.’

He nods, an understanding flashing in his eyes. I hesitate, before saying,

‘If I could impose on you, slightly, however…’

‘Yes?’ He prompts me on.

‘I would ask that you keep the boy's return to yourself, for a while, at least. It will muddle my trail, slightly, for Danarius. And of course, if you refrained from **ever** mentioning my name, I could hope to survive with less danger coming my way.’

Danarius is not a forgiving man, and I have no doubts that having lost the boy, he will turn all his attentions to finding one responsible for the fallout. He has been shamed, and will pay for it, dearly – but he would, at the very least, make me pay first.

Tessarian understands it as well as I do, and nods his consent.

‘Well, then… It was a pleasure, Magister.’ 

I leave his estate the same way I returned, and then proceed away from Minrathous, using the remainder of my escape route to travel to the north. I do not want to lead anyone back with me to Qarinus, and so, I take weeks and weeks to lose my tracks in the wilderness, before finally getting there, and delicately inquiring of the events during my absence from civilization.

Those that take big risks during the game, are also liable to lose everything. Danarius had played, and lost, and Tessarian had exacted his revenge.

Though he was quite close to winning, had it not been for my timely intervention.

From the safe, sequestered, faraway Qarinus, I learn of Danarius’ exile - officially, "appointment" - to Seheron, and smile viciously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is dedicated for Mayamelissa. This chapter is a total surprise for me, to be honest. I hadn’t thought on making Fean’Na run into Fenris just yet, but it was inspired by the questions about Varania, and I thought to myself, well, why not? She is making a stir in Minrathous, and considering her and Danarius’ world-view leanings, it wouldn’t be much of a stretch for them to run afoul one another, accidentally. And then it grew in my hands, and we are, again, behind on my planned schedule. Oh well, it was a rather vague notion in the first place.  
> What worries me, a bit, is that with all the things popping into my head, I cannot estimate when we will get to the Inquisition, at all. ^^  
> Fean'Na is not very impressed with Fenris, for the moment. Not particularly surprising, considering the circumstances.  
> I hope you are enjoying the story, even though we are not yet in the… sanctioned part, and not for a while yet. 
> 
> StValentine, I have to wonder though, was Shartan really a good influence on Fean’Na? He had helped her with loneliness, but also, brought her along on the war she would have avoided, otherwise. He taught her a lot, certainly, but it is due to the consequences of his decisions – taking Wings of Freedo, to Andraste – that she had closed off her heart in the first place.  
> I am feeling ambiguous about him. I wanted Fean’Na to grow as a person, and by being near someone so strongly challenging her beliefs, I believe she had grown into them even more. In the end, while all experiences made her definitely stronger – also when it comes to fighting prowess – I wouldn’t call them positive, per se. Without meeting Valeria, who knows where Fean’Na would have ended up.  
> Well, she was supposed to meet her from the start, so I never considered an alternative, other than that it was poor. 
> 
> I just realized, that I’ve passed 300 kudos! Thank you, when I was beginning it, I honestly did not expect it would be well received. My second attempt at writing, after I gave up on it, years ago. Please, keep commenting, and asking, as I am often as surprised as you are by the ideas you inspire in my head.


	21. Serene Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ASSUMPTIONS:  
> 1\. Thedas is the sole continent, a whole world of DA.  
> 2\. Original Inquisition timeline is around 8 years, and not 2 years, like it is according to Wiki.

**Serene Pride**

With Danarius disgraced and gone, having lost most of his influence and position, the danger has passed. He will, undoubtedly, climb back up again, since, I cannot deny it, bastard is a fucking genius. The successful experiment on the Ghost was both a measure of his arrogance, but also, immense talent. It is also what kept him alive, even through Tessarian’s wrath; Archon’s – or rather, his wife’s - belief of his usefulness. So he will return, undoubtedly.

Unless he gets himself killed, either on Seheron or here.

It leaves me free to return to Minrathous whenever I want, but I stay in Qarinus nonetheless. I have kept my presence hidden, until I confirmed that no one is looking for me, but fortunately, Magister of the house Lucanus had kept his word, and my involvement in the whole affair remained secret. I breathe a sigh of relief, and finally visit Valeria, now that I’m certain I won’t bring any of this over her head.

The moment Valeria sees me, she runs to my side, foregoing her usual uncertainty and restraint, and I find myself with an armful of weeping child. Slightly disoriented, and a fair bit worried, I allow her to cry out her distress, stroking her back reassuringly.

Once I tire of holding her, I take her up the steps to my rooms in the inn, carefully manoeuvring the stairs. With a slight thud I land us both gracelessly on the bed. She takes the chance to climb upwards, pressing her wet face to the crook of my neck, her small arms encircling it, seeking even more closeness. Her sobs subside slightly, but I still can feel her shaking, and embrace her tightly.

Her breathing finally evens out, and before I realize it, she falls asleep, still pressed to me. She must have been exhausted, holding back all these emotions, until she saw me. With a quiet sigh, I disentangle her from me, and stand up, covering her with a blanket. Reaching out to delicately pet her head, I begin thinking.

Obviously, something bad had happened. I refrained from asking about anything, as it was clear that she was too shaken for any conversations. But there are others I might interrogate about the events, and checking up on the girl, and ensuring that she is sound asleep, I walk out into the night.

Her guardians are, apparently, as clueless about her problems as I am. While she appeared more subdued, of recent, nothing seemed too much out of order. I thank them for their care over Valeria, reassuring them that she is fine, and that I’ll get to the bottom of this.

There’s one more person I can ask.

Riv doesn’t appear too perturbed by my sudden arrival at his doorstep, and welcomes me inside. Fortunately, none of his many lovers are taking his attention, or I would have had to wait till next day to assuage my worries. He pours some alcohol for both of us, and empties his glass in one swallow, before lapsing into the explanation.

Two weeks ago, a vessel on the way from Seheron to Minrathous had docked, after a bad storm had torn up their sails, and damaged the hull. The port shipbuilders had immediately begun the necessary repairs, but both the crew and the soldiers that were being transported ended up stranded ashore, away from the families they were returning to. The army had decided to march to their destination, and left the Qarinus soon afterwards, but the sailors had to remain by the ship.

A band of rowdy, irritated people with too much time on their hands and nothing specific to do. A recipe for trouble. The guard has had their hands full ever since, various incidents happening almost daily. Valeria was a party to one such incident, which ended up with a sailor assaulting her dead, as she successfully used the skills she has been taught to defend herself. Five days ago.

I swallow a sudden lump in my throat, regretting I hadn’t returned sooner.

‘She had a big scare, and, while nothing serious happened, we were forced to interrogate her, right after the event. Shock is a natural reaction.’ He finishes, looking unseeingly at the flickering candle.

I sigh heavily. Regretfully. I had hoped to grant her longer childhood, alas, it seems the world has caught up with her. I couldn’t have protected her from reality for too long, either way.

 ‘I know. Thank you for telling me, and I apologize for the late hour of my intrusion.’

Then again, on Thedas, children typically age faster; Celene was Valeria’s age when she took the throne, and she had managed to survive, thus far. 

He waves my words off, before adding nonchalantly, as I ready myself to leave.

‘You **could** stay.’

My hands freeze for a second on the cloak I was buttoning, before resuming. I glance at his wide grin, noticing the stark contrast between his white teeth and the black of his skin, and a sudden shudder runs through me. A flash of unexpected desire, which I squash mercilessly, realizing it is a folly.

So that’s how he does it, the smooth bastard. No wonder females flock to his bed.

But I’ve had the sensual June and much more clumsy, yet beloved Fen at my heels, and resisted it with success. The adventure with Shartan has taught me that casual intimacy has its dangers, and I do not want even a chance, of that history repeating itself. I will not take anyone to bed solely out of lust, ever again. So I just smile genially, and shake my head, and with graceful bob, leave.

I open the door of my rooms in the inn, and realize that Valeria is wide awake, her eyes gleaming in the dark.

‘You are back.’ She whispers, with relief and subdued happiness.

‘Of course.’ I cross the room and ruffle her hair, easing off my outerwear, and sliding under the covers by her side. She immediately snuggles to me, saying,

‘I thought it was just a dream. That I imagined your return.’

‘You got me worried, Da’len.’ I reply by means of explanation of my recent absence, slipping an arm around her side. For a moment, I believe she will fall back asleep, but instead, she begins speaking, in a hushed, slightly quivering voice.

‘I was scared. The man seemed so huge. But then, I didn’t **think** , just… and there was blood, so much blood. He stopped moving, and his eyes became… glossy. And I realized he wasn’t at all big, only my fear made him so.’

‘I threw up.’ She pauses tensely, challengingly, as if expecting condemnation. I shrug, replying uncaringly, and honestly,

‘So did I, after my first kill.’ Many, many years ago. ‘I pray the day never comes, child, when you will learn to kill indiscriminately.’

I have long crossed this line. Suddenly, I remember the eyes of a young farmer, desperate and begging for mercy; we had taken the last of his supplies for the sake of feeding an army. And then he tried stopping us, and ended up a bloodied corpse, he and his sons, and then, too, the remainder of his family, as the commander of the raid had ordered to burn their home, as an example.

I had personally killed two of the children inside, who were slowly choking to death, inhaling thick smoke, unable to catch a breath. There was no way to save them, only an offer of this final mercy, but a wave of guilt hits me with renewed strength, and I pull Valeria closer to me, trying to chase away their ghosts with the warmth radiating from her small body.

She shuffles restlessly in my embrace, exhaling deeply, before finding a more comfortable position, and settling down.

‘What does Da’len mean?’ She asks drowsily a few minutes later, as her rapid heartbeat calms.

‘Little thing.’ I reply softly. My precious, little thing, that you are, childe.

‘Mmm. Is it elvish? Will you teach it to me, it sounds so pretty…’ She is asleep by the last word, but still, I whisper to her, brushing my lips against her forehead,

‘If you wish.’ 

The next day, Valeria seems her usual self, as if the terrors of the past had lost their hold over her, as if my rather weak attempt at consolation was all that she needed. Even though I am sad that the circumstances forced her to hand, internally, I feel it is good that she is capable of killing in self-defence. In this dark world, being too peaceful brings far more harm than advantage.

I remain by her side, and keep my promise, beginning to teach her the Ancient Elvhen, as well as the more practical common tongue. If we are to travel together, she will need it far more than the long unused language of her ancestors.

I marvel at her transformation, happening right in front of my eyes. She blossoms, radiating with happiness, drinking every word of my praise, and gaining in confidence and skill by the hour. She walks with her head held high, and starts sassing back to the people deriding her. Really, almost completely different person.

While I know it is largely based on her feelings for me, and if the certainty of my presence disappears, she is still liable to return to her previous self, I am proud of her progress. And since I have no plans of disappearing any time soon, I do not worry about the rest too much.

One day, she slips up, slightly, and calls me _Mamae_ , and flushes, embarrassed, and uncertain of her presumption, glancing at me shyly. When I do not react negatively, she sighs with some relief, and pretends that nothing happened – unaware of the internal turmoil within me her words had caused.

While I knew I was important to her, I had never dared to presume she would come to love me, like a mother, no less. I am both humbled, and afraid whether I will live up to the responsibility it lays on my shoulders.

To make matters more complicated, I am feeling pensively ambiguous, both flattered and sombre, towards her feelings. When she looks at me with such devotion, such respect, I cannot help but see shadows of all those I had failed to protect. People who had died, both of the Wings I had failed to keep from joining the war, as well as the other citizens of the empire, swept away by the storm of war. And Shartan, whom I had failed on so many levels, it is hard to begin even listing them.

And now, I am supposed to somehow do better by her?

It is an effort to keep the gloom and guilt at bay, and she must be aware, on some level, of my bouts of sadness, even though I do my best to keep my burdens away from her. She doesn’t deserve the ghosts of my troubled past on her shoulders. But they reoccur, as my past was not laid down to rest, still vividly grim.

I return to my spars with Riv, redirecting some of my frustration with myself into physical effort. He gets increasingly creative with his fighting style and finally, forces me to reach to my mana in order to win against him. But I keep my spotless record, nonetheless, even if our bouts get closer and closer.

Months later, I am reached by the news that Tessarian’s reform fell through. Even though Danarius had lost personally, in the grand scheme of things, he had still emerged victorious. The Magisters were reminded that they are all very much mortal, and getting to any of them, even the most influential, is entirely possible. Thus, the idea of foregoing a part of their arsenal, weakening themselves willingly, becomes much less appearing.

I am very much frustrated by their blindness, inability to see that this is the edge of sword which ends up impaling them, in the end. That this is the temptation the demons use. Nowadays, there are many more possessions than there were in the past, before the Exalted March. And while outside Tevinter it relates to the pathetic, desperate position mages find themselves in, within it, it is in direct connection to attempting more powerful summonings than mages are capable of controlling.

Anger makes me restless, in addition to guilt, and suddenly, I feel an overwhelming need to leave the disheartening Empire. I have stayed in one spot for far too long, for my peace of mind, already.

I also feel that Valeria is nearly ready, and so, decide to take her along with me on a trip to Antiva, sort of a trial run. It will help her make informed decision, after getting a taste how life with me would be like. I want her to be sure of her choice, before taking her away for good from the safety of Qarinus.

Antiva is colourful place, thriving by its craftsmanship and merchandise. Streets are full of gaudy stalls filled with various merchandise, and Valeria is enchanted. Personally, I find each visit here very trying, as Antivans do not **have** a concept of personal space, and in their attempts to sell their products, they breach it without restraint. Pulling, convincing, pleading, lowering the prices, it is all very noisy and irritating for my senses, as I cringe at the shrill tones of people hollering their offers.

It is, at least, a change from Tevinter, though, and we remain for a while, as I do some light mercenary work, taking the child along. Nothing serious happens, and the only time when I have to physically intervene during my body-guarding duties, the men back down immediately, terrified by the speed with which I pull a knife to their necks.

Just before our planned return, however, we run across an unusual scene. A lonely female, surrounded by a heavily armoured males with a symbol of holy sword on their back, all with their swords drawn, against her. The locals had wisely hid within their homes from the commotion, and I also intend on avoiding it, quickly scaling up the wall, and pulling Valeria after me.

‘What’s this, Fean’Na?’ She asks, slightly afraid, but curious.

‘Templars, Da’len. It is a mage hunt.’ I look at the drama happening below, from our safe vantage point, as their leader demands the surrender of the escapee.

‘Wait.’ I realize that something is amiss in the scene – one of the Templars stands with his back against the mage, and his weapon pointing against his fellow knights.

‘Now, that is unusual sight.’ I drawl out, amazed.

A Templar helping a mage in her flight from the circle? Will the wonders never cease! I’ve never believed I would see such miracle with my own eyes.

I am nearly inclined to render assistance, solely because of that.  

‘Shouldn’t we help them? I know you don’t like Templars, as a mage, yourself.’ Asks Valeria, surprising me with her astuteness. I know I had mentioned a few times that I am far from impressed with the Chantry’s policies, but I had never said anything of my rather profound dislike of the Order. She must have figured that out on her own.

Still, I waver. I do not like involving myself without much cause in the issues of others, and with Valeria here, I am even more disinclined to take such risk.

Sensing my doubts, my girl smiles reassuringly.

‘I’ll remain up here, all the time, I promise. I am an archer, after all, this position is perfect.’

One last look in her direction, ascertaining of her convictions, and I fly down, in a burst of magically enhanced speed. The attackers are so engaged with the opponents in front of them, they do not realize the danger behind their back until it’s far too late. The five knight are finished within thirty heartbeats, one by the sword of the Templar defending the mage, one by Valeria’s arrow in his neck, and three by me.

Drawing a rugged heartbeat, always a bit uneasy while facing naturally magic resistant foes, I clean my hand of the gore, observing the streets surrounding us.

We are in luck, as the city guard is yet to arrive. I hear steps approaching me from the side, and a pleasantly low, female voice.

‘We are grateful for your timely intervention, strangers. Allow me to introduce…’ begins the golden haired mage, but stops, once she realizes I’m completely ignoring her, briskly crossing the square.

‘Valeria, Da’len, are you alright?’ I look up the elevation, and see her red head above.

Valeria jumps down from the roof into my outstretched hands, and I stumble a little, using a touch of magic to keep us upright.

‘I’m fine’ she mumbles, in spite of the greenish shade on her face. I huff my disbelief, and she corrects herself hastily,

‘I will be fine. I am still unused to such…’ She casts a quick glance at the dead bodies, before escaping with her eyes.

I nod my understanding, before turning to the two people we just saved, watching us warily, and with a fair bit of curiosity.

‘We need to leave. Fast’ I command, and miraculously enough, they follow without any more needless chatter.

There will be time enough for that later. Now, the priority is escape, before the locals gather their courage, and come to check out the commotion. Neither me, nor Valeria, are disguised, and I do not fancy my description reaching the Templar Order, especially linked with the death of five fully fledged knights. Not at all.

I bless my oversight, which forces me to always have an flight plan prepared. While I hadn’t expected company, and the two horses are a bit strained under four people, we manage to make considerable distance during the night, and soon, acquire more mounts, to fit our needs.

As we camp, Valeria wrangles the story of the two strangers out of them.

Tasha and Ryanth both hail from the Kirkwall Circle of Magi. They had been together for a few years already, an open secret within the walls, tolerated by the authorities as long as they did not flaunt it too openly.

Until the Knight-Commander changed. The new one, Meredith Stannard, was quite firm about upholding the rules forbidding any fraternization, and soon told them in no uncertain terms to break up this illicit affair. Or else.

At first, they tried reasoning with her, arguing that nothing had happened for years, and Tasha is an exemplary, obedient member of the Circle, upholding the rules in all other matters. But it all fell on deaf ears, and finally, they saw no other choice but to run, unwilling to forsake their love.

Valeria listens with rapt fascination to their story, her young girl’s heart moved. I am much less impressed – in addition to a teenage girl, now I have on my hands two romantic idiots of a fugitives.

They really ought to have tried applying for Grand Cleric’s mercy, before taking such drastic measure. Elthina is well known in the Free Marches for the softness of her heart, and would have surely helped them. Now, however, once they broke the rules so thoroughly, they have no choice but to come to with us Tevinter, the only place in Thedas where Tasha will be allowed on the streets without as much as a second glance.  

We take them along to Qarinus, where Ryanth, at my behest, rids of his characteristic Templar armour, in favour of a less… eye catching version. While the two of them replenish our supplies, acquire new mounts, and whatever else they need, I ask Valeria, one last time.

‘Are you sure that you wouldn’t rather stay?’

She merely huffs, slightly offended, and that is that.

We travel to Minrathous, afterwards, and I help the two lovebirds in settling down there, guiding them over the treacherous traps of the city.

Before I realize it, I start taking them along on the mercenary jobs along, as greater numbers allow for more safety, and truth to be told, I am grateful for Ryanth’s presence, guarding over the two young females. My fighting style is purely offensive, and I would fear leaving Valeria behind on her own. Now, I do not have to, and Tasha, as a skilled healer, is also a welcome addition, alleviating even more of my concerns with her mere presence.

A few months later, our group grows from four, to five, as unexpectedly, Riv arrives at Minrathous. He claims that he grew bored of the safe, undisturbed Qarinus, having dealt with local bandits long time ago. I smirk and say snidely that it is his masochism that brought him, since he apparently enjoys having his ass kicked. He laughs at that, and answers with suggestive,

‘Perhaps. If you ever cared to test that theory out, I am always open to new ideas.’

It has me blushing furiously for the next hour. In spite of my rather comfortable perception of self, I am feeling awkward with such innuendos and jokes at intimacy, or **implied** intimacy. Riv often leaves me flabbergasted, with his openness regarding such matters. Fortunately, Ryanth and Tasha, with their adoration, doe eyes, and the sweetness, make for much more engaging targets, so I am rarely an object of his humorous quips.

For the first time in… years, decades, I feel comfortable with the people surrounding me, and there are days when I almost forget about the darkness that used to be a constant companion of my soul.

Yet the more happiness I allow myself, engaging in activities with this group of… friends, companions, the more I feel remorseful about this. And then I remember, again, the glossy eyes Valeria mentioned, only not of those deserving such fate, but innocent victims. And I drown, drown guilt, for my survival and joy when so many others had paid with their lives. I do not deserve such reprieve, such luck, when I have failed so much.

And this guilt, instead of passing, only grows in strength, with time, casting a shadow over my daily life, plain in the half-smiles and faraway looks.

As Valeria grows as a person, as an individual, I am further struck by the contrast between her and Shartan, to whom my thoughts invariably stray. I wonder how different he would have been, if someone extended hand towards him, before he was irreparably broken. And then, with constricted heart, I remember that he had never been irreparable, irredeemable, only I had squashed that chance. From there, it is only a step away from my thoughts returning to the war and all the terrible things that happened, and I grow more and more forlorn, so much that the others begin to realize.

There was a reason why I had closed off my heart, and now, my awakened awareness of the darkness slowly swallows me.

My friends pretend that nothing is amiss, and I am grateful for their tact, for I would have no answers to share. Valeria, on the other hand, grows increasingly frustrated by the situation, watching me with a worried eyes, until she finally asks,

‘Why do you always look so sad?’

How do I even begin? I remain silent for a while, before deciding to spare her the meaningless details. In the end, it all boils down to one thing.

‘I’ve failed many people, Valeria.’ Unable to meet her eyes, I look at my rigidly clasped hands, instead. My nails dig deeply into my palms, bruising them, but I am heedless of that, lost in the pensiveness.

‘But you’ve tried, didn’t you, Fean’Na?’ Her voice sounds so certain of that, I feel ashamed by her unwavering faith in me. Undeserved.

‘It wasn’t enough.’

‘For some, it was. For me. Does me being alive and well mean nothing?’ She sounds deeply hurt, and I shake my head rapidly, denying. I didn’t think she would take it so personally.

‘Of course not, child. I am grateful that fate had led me your way each and every day.’

‘Then I wish you behaved as if you actually believed that, Mamae.’ There are tears in her eyes, and my heart constricts at causing her such distress. ‘I praise the gods every day for that. That we met. Didn’t you tell me that the most any of us can do is their best? Why don’t you apply it to yourself?!’

My little spitfire, what would I ever do without you? I draw her into hug, running my fingers over her fiery hair, and she sobs in my arms, releasing the accumulated emotions, stress of these past months. Holding her shaking shoulders, I promise myself that I will try to do better by her. She doesn’t deserve suffering from my own heavy conscience.

Schooled by my own charge. It is strange, to hear words of wisdom from the mouth of one so young, but I pride myself for my flexibility, and do not disregard them. Instead, they get me thinking, and slowly, I begin to consider her words, and the truth they hold within.

I begin thinking that perhaps, she is right. That instead of looking at those I had failed, I should start counting those I did not.

Looking at it from perspective, there was no way for me to prevent the war from happening, at all. I couldn’t have stopped Shartan from joining in, no matter what. I **could** have rejected him, perhaps, initially, but there was nothing that indicated it would turn out as badly as it did.

And I had saved people, too. A few scattered souls, but then, I am no Fen, with his near divine powers, allowing him to affect the whole Thedas. Yet, People had suffered as a consequences of Fen’s decisions, too. Made with best intentions. There are no perfect solutions in this world, in any world. I did my best.

I slowly begin believing that, laying some of my guilt to rest, going through the memories one by one.

It is a arduous process, owning up to all these events. When I finally look over them, face the flames and destruction straight ahead, instead of cowering under it, closing myself off. I analyse them, one by one, and make my peace with them. Until the hardest one, where Andraste burns.

I look at her face, a bit blurred by time in my memories, but still with a clear grimace of pain, her shout just as heart-wrenching as it was, and tell myself, yes, I did that. And I repeat to myself unflinchingly, I would do so again.

I was always aware of that, but on some level, I felt these feelings were wrong. That they made me a bad person. Now, I accept them, wholeheartedly, as a part of my flawed self. A better person would have, maybe, tried to make things different, offered a chance at remodeling the past. But I am myself, and I know, I would do everything just the same. 

I feel much better afterwards, and only one, nagging regret remains. With a few words of advice, I leave Valeria to the care of Ryanth and Tasha, apologising to her for leaving, but saying that I need to do this. Unusually serious, she nods without complaint.

Finally, I am ready to visit Fen. I am years late, but at the very least, I owe him that.

The Disciples, awakened by my arrival, look at me with slight frowns, but allow me into the cove without any objection.

I walk past the bluish barrier over the entrance, and the female who had guided me stays outside, bent in a respectful half bow.

The place remains unchanged, as tranquil as ever, saturated with Fade energies, centering around the still body lying on the grass. I breathe it all in, deeply, before looking at his sleeping figure. Swallowing thickly, I take a few tentative steps in his direction, falling to my knees by his side.

Softly caressing his cheek, I whisper contritely,

 _‘I’m sorry it took me so long, my dear friend._ ’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alexstrasza, I absolutely loved your idea. A great review, I would be overjoyed to hear more, which parts of the story you liked the most. And why. It helps me to grow as a writer, as well, and I appreciate this very much. Thank you for taking the time to do this. 
> 
> I had officially taken off the ‘dark’ tag. Why? Because looking at my notes, I realize, that while quite a bit of unhappiness for my Fean’Na – (I wonder how you would feel knowing I have over 10 thousand words of jotted down little scenes I am planning on expand on; that might, or might not, happen at some point), I cannot, in good conscience, call it dark, anymore. Angsty, certainly. Fair bit of sad. Quite heavy, at times. But dark? I do not think so.


	22. Ascending Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ASSUMPTIONS:  
> 1\. Thedas is the sole continent, a whole world of DA.  
> 2\. Original Inquisition timeline is around 8 years, and not 2 years, like it is according to Wiki.

**Ascending Pride**

Enjoying the familiar aura washing over me, I remain by Fen’s side, delicately tracing the contours of his face with tips of my fingers. I hadn’t seen him for so long, I learn his features anew, not quite aware of my actions. Once I realize what I am doing – a trespass, for we are not together, not by any stretch of imagination – I snatch my hand back, blushing guiltily.

Even if I finally got here, it doesn’t mean I should lose my head like that. It is unbecoming of me, and unworthy, taking advantage of his unconscious state like that. Especially since I know I wouldn’t dare the same had he been awake.

 Still, I cannot bring myself to leave, and stretch on the always green grass by his side, shuffling a little to get more comfortable. After small internal battle, I lose to my desires, and end up putting my head on his lap.

Surely, that is not too much? Friends do that too… Sometimes…

So maybe I am looking for excuses. Nevertheless, I enjoy the feeling of him close, and unburdened by guilt I do not realize when the calm his presence brings lulls me into the dream world.

I am a bit flustered crossing the barrier hours later, embarrassed by my behaviour. It makes me oversensitive to the touch of Fade. I perceive stirrings of power behind me, and swirl in place extending my aura; against all odds hoping that Fen had woken. Alas, everything seems as it was and wolf remains as deeply asleep as he ever was in my presence, so, with a vague feeling of disappointment, I leave.  

Pretending to not see the knowing looks Disciples exchange between themselves, I struggle to fight down the flush, threatening to spread. I am well aware my behaviour was quite inappropriate, a vast imposition without any reasonable cause on my part.

Uncomfortable in their presence even though they do not judge, I return to Minrathous without delaying.  

The visit to Fen lifted the last of my burdens, left me feeling light hearted and energized, joyful. Riv, perceptive as usual soon picks up on the change within me.

‘My, you are positively chipper aren’t you, Quicksilver?’ He smirks, leering suggestively, ‘Did you finally get laid?’

Normally, the question would have me stuttering uncomfortably, scrambling for a rebuke. However, with my upbeat mood, I accept the jab good naturedly, replying with an enigmatic,

‘Perhaps.’

He looks at me sharply, unused to such collectedness from me. But I just smile beatifically, perfectly content with myself, for the moment.

Valeria also notices my turnaround, and doesn’t hesitate at showing me her appreciation and happiness of the change. I look at her, beaming brightly, with a light skip to her step, and my heart clenches awash with affection. With love.

I love my girl, the little Da’len I found on the streets. Undoubtedly, certainly, without restraint; I want to protect her, teach her, make her life’s path easier. Even if she is not quite so little anymore, three years later.

Sometimes I gaze at her, at the unyielding strength burning in her brown eyes, and shake my head in wonder. How far did both of us come to arrive at this point? Where she freely expresses herself, with me and with surroundings; and how had her presence affected, healed me.

The lightness of my soul is something so new for me, I do not entirely know how to behave. Feeling too accurately, perceiving too astutely, thinking faster. It is strange how clear, how obvious some things appear, now.

Soon after my arrival, a hushed word reaches me that the Archivist is looking for me. Unusual, and puzzling occurrence, one I am a bit wary of. It is almost unheard of for an information broker to reach out personally to the mercenaries, and doing so in secret, doubly so.

I do not see anything wrong in checking it out, though. If it turns out to be a flop, or a bogus, well, nothing but little time is wasted.

Archivist’s office is the same, nondescript room with a few shelves on the sides, and a large desk occupying central space in the room. Yet, somehow, it seems smaller, when he stands up. I can feel a strange tensions from him, as he looks at me appraisingly, before handing out description of the mission he needs me for.

My eyes narrow as I look at the details laid out on the parchment before me. I was looking for a break like that, for a possibility of involvement in the anti-slavery underground, all those years. But it is on a much larger scale than what I had expected. Raid on slave caverns on the coast, to attempt to free the captives, is a very large operation. The information regarding the layout are very precise, clearly, a result of an inside job. It would be more than enough to achieve success.

It could also be a trap.

I know that the Archivist must have been aware of my anti-slavery leanings for a while, the nature of the requests I followed up on made that pretty clear. Not to mention some of my other, obscure, activities, which he had no doubt observed.

Now, did I manage to annoy anyone enough to arrange such an elaborate ruse? It does seem unlikely, but I cannot know for certain. And Magisters do revel in an overly intricate ploys, simply for the thrill of it.

Had I been alone, I would have taken it up, regardless my unease and uncertainty.

However, now I have Valeria dependant on me, not to mention, the girl wouldn’t let me leave her back at home. I cannot take such risk, putting my faith in Archivist’s obscure motives, just because he had helped me once in a similar matter.

Keeping my face straight, in case I was wrong about him, and he does, indeed, attempt to trap me, I return the contract, wordlessly. No need to speak, he understands my rejection of the offer.

His eyes flash, as he accepts it back, with a strangely uncertain expression on his face. Strangely, since I am unused to such expressiveness from the normally elusive and perfectly aloof man.

I turn to leave, when his voice stops me.

‘Wait!’ I glance back, raising my eyebrow in question, and he requests, gruffly,

‘Follow me.’

Intrigued, I go after him, as he leads me through a back entrance I didn’t know existed in the office, and then weaves his way away from the middle town, and to the slums of Minrathous. We stop in front of an obscure building, and he takes a deep breath, before painting a smile on his face, and entering, decisively.

‘I’m home, Sarie!’ his voice is raised more than necessary, echoing a bit in the small abode.

I freeze at the doorstep, shocked by where he had taken me, before realizing my behaviour could be seen as offensive, and proceed inside.

‘Welcome back, dear… How unusual, you’ve brought a guest?’ A frail looking woman rises her head from the flower pot she was watering.

‘Allow me to introduce, my business associate, Quicksilver. My wife, Sarie.’ he makes a random hand gesture, clearly uncomfortable. It is only deeply ingrained etiquette which makes me bow in response to the female’s friendly nod. More deeply than the situation warrants, since I am still reeling from internal confusion at being here.

I hadn’t expected anything like that.

He leads me upstairs, and closes the doors behind us, before crossing his arms, and looking at me expectantly.

I am still dumbfounded, a bit, thinking over the events. Archivist had taken a **huge** gamble, by doing this. He put the existence of his family in my hands – had he been wrong, I would have, now, the possibility of selling what I’ve learned to his enemies. His current well-being would be forfeit. He had faith that he had read me, and my motivations, well, and decided to win my trust, by this desperate move. To show me the purity of his intentions.

There’s no question I will accept his request, now, completely won over, so I nod wordlessly. 

‘Thank you, Quicksilver.’  His shoulders sag in boundless relief, and voice quivers slightly.

I wonder, why is it so important to him, enough to risk… everything, really. Or at least, everything that matters, to him.

I could end it at that, but something heckles in me, at the uneven position we find ourselves in, now. He had trusted me, placed a bet on me. I ought to return at least some of it.

‘Fean’Na.’ I correct him quietly. His eyes flash at this little bit of myself I shared, a hand extended in his direction, and he inclines his head, accepting the spirit of it.

I gather my friends, this evening, relaying the details of the new assignment, ending with,

‘I’ll understand if any of you back out. This is not only dangerous, but also, against the Imperial law.’ I take a deep breath, after this long, somewhat nerve-wreaking, speech.

Imperial law allows the slavery and all that is involved in it as a sanctioned trade. Our assault, were it to happen, would make us all fugitives, if anyone found out our identities. For Tasha and Ryanth, especially, it would mean, possibly, forsaking the one place where they are free to live however they want. I can see the former Templar struggling with that knowledge, but Tasha just smiles, lightly, without a hint of a doubt, placing her hand in mine.

‘You can count on us, Quicksilver.’

Ryanth looks at her with slight exasperation, but, with a sigh, nods firmly in my direction, confirming her words. I look questioningly at Riv, who grins,

‘What, let you lot have all the fun without me? Never.’

And thus, we are agreed, on this major shift from the usual modus operandi, embarking on a very much different mission that the previous ones we involved ourselves in.

At first, the plan is to sneak out as many of the slaves as possible. We do not feel quite so confident about facing head on all of the mercenaries gathered in the caves; it seems suicidal, with our numbers. Not to mention on the unfamiliar terrain. Personally, I do not feel all that confident about fade stepping in such narrow tunnels, and Valeria’s archery also has rather limited usage in such circumstances.

We easily succeed with the first batch of cells, as I manipulate my aura. Like during the old times, I muffle  completely any sound in my vicinity, and slay the inattentive guard in front of them. Using the keys stolen from him, as well as by my own hand, we open or burn down the locks. Afterwards, Tasha shows the slaves how to get outside.

But all plans can go awry, and tripping over an explosive glyph is a sure way to get attention of our opponents. I berate Riv for his clumsiness, as we reach to our weapons. The sounds of many footsteps echoing in the corridors forewarn us of the hostiles, approaching from the corridors. That’s when Nervlis joins us, without a word or prompting, a dual wielding rogue matching seamlessly into our team composition as if he always belonged. Even though it is our first meeting, not to mention fight, together.

We take the caverns by storm, sweeping it clean of all the slaver hyenas, and freeing all of the unfortunate people who were imprisoned and awaiting their fate there. There were not quite as many of the opponents as we feared, and by the end of the day, they are all dead. We have but a few minor wounds on our side. Riv's burn from the explosion is decidedly the worst, and Ryanth dislocated his shoulder. He sets it promptly, too, but Tasha cautions him against overusing it during the next few weeks.

We find quite a lot of cash, plundering through the slavers’ chests without remorse. I allow my friends to lay claim on most of the wealth. Tasha and Ryanth could use a permanent residence, as could Riv, instead of constantly renting the places to live in. To the observing it all hesitantly newcomer, Nervlis, I send impatient look, waving in the direction of the riches. He had more than earned his share of the spoils during the last few hours.

I do not say a word when Nervlis returns with us to Minrathous, and am not surprised to see him during our next excursion, even though I haven’t contacted him. Somehow, he seems to know Archivist, and I begin to wonder whether the mysteriously accurate information the man had gotten weren’t from Nervlis in the first place.

However, it is not my place to pry, and it is my policy to let the past stay where it belongs, as long as he isn’t willing to share. Archivist trusts him, and I have already placed my faith in the man by taking up the mission. And the elf is good to have by our side, as he is turns out to be an expert at trap detection and dismantling, which we sorely lacked, before.

As personally proven by Riv.

The nature of our missions changes. While I feel a bit uneasy about pulling them along on my personal crusade, surprisingly, my friends accept it, naturally, and without reproof. I follow up only on Archivist’s requests, and he ensures they are generally relating to the slavery matters. Supporting Tessarian behind the scenes, or more directly fighting against the slavers, or sometimes, even bounty hunters, specializing in catching the runaways. One way or another, it all comes down to hindering the fucked up trade.

Even though we are, grow to be, quite close knit bunch, I am still astonished, and touched, when Ryanth and Tasha extend invitation for me and Valeria to join in on their Satinalia celebrations. Even more so, when I realize that they had tactfully chosen the one festival remaining free of Chantry’s influence. In spite of their own devotion to the faith.

Which I find quite mindboggling, considering that it was Andrastian teachings that what had enclosed Tasha behind the Circle walls in the first place. When I point it out, she just smiles serenely, and replies that she would have never met Ryanth, otherwise. And she thinks that years of imprisonment are more than worth the love she has gained in return.

I fall silent, afterwards, for who am I to argue about the value of love? I had forsaken mine, in exchange for safety of the two of us, ages ago. Tasha had chosen to risk everything, even death, in order to be with her beloved.

Satinalia precede Andrastian Chantry creation, like most of the larger festivals. Unlike Urthalis, now called Winter Send, or other holy days, they proved resistant to any religious manipulations, conversion attempts. They remain the last of the old traditions, unblemished by the Andrastian nonsense. I adore them, I did partake in them even squashed under my guilt.

On the day of the festival, me and Valeria prepare some food to take along with us on our visit, before mingling in with the crowd on the streets of Minrathous. Many local artists choose to show off their craft on this particular day, and the city is loud with music of musicians, dramatically raised voices of actors, playing out their roles on impromptu scenes, and sellers, trying to convince others of the superiority of their wares. It is the one day during the year when ‘Vints lose on their dignity, resembling more Antivans in their lack of restraint, and celebrate, jubilantly.

Valeria laughs, observing the street theatres, playing out a various scenes, either pastiches of the court, or near sacrilegious plays. With some difficulty, I manage to convince her to walk away from the re-enactment of the Exalted March, a bit exasperated, and disgruntled, by this particular choice of topic.

Once the skies begin to darken, we find ourselves on the porch of Ryanth’s and Tasha’s new home, the female ushering us inside. The remainder of the group is already inside, though I am surprised to see Archivist, along with his wife and daughter there, as well.

We spend the evening sharing stories, accompanied by a light wine, decent food, and cheerful atmosphere. I get a good laugh, once I discover, that Archivist is called this way by his wife, and sometimes, even by his daughter.

 ‘Yes, laugh it up’ he grumbles irritably. ‘We’ll see who will have the last laugh when your own alias becomes what defines you.’

‘Who says it has not, already?’ I take a sip of the vintage, before looking up and realizing I’ve become an object of curious glances. Cursing internally my excessive openness, I elaborate,

‘Quicksilver is merely operational codename. I was denominated as Pride, once, by people both close to me, and my opponents.’

They all exchange amused glances, with Nervlis muttering a quiet ‘Fitting’ under his nose, before changing the topic. By the end of the evening, in spite of the lightness of the alcohol, Valeria ends up quite drunk. I had attempted to limit her eagerness, alas, I have failed. Considering she is old enough to kill, proficiently, in this world, I find myself at a loss of arguments, regarding insobriety. 

She perks up, suddenly, from her position, where she was nearly falling asleep on the table,

‘We really should to name ourselves!’

 I roll my eyes, exasperated, while she insists,

‘All mercenary bands have names. We ought to have one, too!’

‘We are group of friends, who happen to partake in missions together, not a **band** , or organized group, by any means.’ I counter evenly, snatching the goblet of wine from her grasp, before she can drink anymore. She pouts at me, swaying, and nearly falling off her seat.

‘Who just **happen** to be somewhat mercenary, and somewhat organized.’ Points out Archivist with a sudden gleam in his eyes, both speculative and scheming.

Oh no, not you too.

Deciding the evening had gone for far too long, if such topics had come up, I decide to call it a night, thanking my hosts for their hospitality. Riv helps me pick up Valeria, and carries her back to our neighborhood, and into her rooms. As I walk him back, he stops at the door, stealing a light kiss. I back away from it, swiftly, casting him a reproving glance.

‘Can't fault the man for trying’ he smirks, before adding, ‘Kid’s idea is not so bad, you know. It will give us all a feeling of… belonging, make it all more real.’

‘Off you go, tomcat.’ I disregard him with a laugh, closing the doors in his face.

Fuck, no, is my first reaction.

And the second.

Only the idea doesn’t die out, and they are all very enthusiastic about a suggestion made in drunken haze by my adopted daughter.

I am very reluctant. It is all fun when we are merely a group of people who like adventuring together, in the atmosphere of camaraderie and friendship. It will be much different once we state our aims and formalize it all… Especially since it all leads to one direction; a creation of a new, anti-slavery group, since this is what we’ve been engaged in, recently. By my choice. My goals, my aims, my desires. And while both Nervlis and Valeria, as former slaves, have personal stake in this, and Archivist has been involved with the underground for a while already, the others have not. I already feel guilty about committing them as much as I did.

I am afraid to lose this easy going thing we have.

But they are unreasonably stubborn, and finally, I relent from my firm stance. While feeling uneasy with the formalization of our group, their certainty is enough to convince me. Nonetheless, I make one last attempt at discouraging them.

 ‘If you want me to make us more official, then I’ll require your obedience, and to not question my orders. I might discuss my course of action with you, but once I order something, I expect it to be followed.’ I anticipate it to dissuade them from the notion. They were all formerly enslaved or in some other manner restricted; I do not see how anyone would be eager to throw that away for anyone’s sake. I would not, and even under Shartan, I made decisions of my own.

To my astonishment, I see smiling faces, and nods all around me.

‘Mamae, we wouldn’t have expected anything else from you’ says Valeria, adding with a slight smirk, ‘we’ve known you for a while already, and you can be pretty authoritarian.’

‘The concepts of discussion and equal rights are all nice and pretty, but in practice, lead to chaos and inability to come to a decision. In certain cases, when no one wants to take responsibility, it just ends up being pushed from one person to another, endlessly’ I reply distractedly, my thoughts returning to the army of Andraste. That’s where I saw it implemented, and it just did not work, not for a military organization, and, from what I’ve observed, neither does it work for countries. Once the Archon’s role became more decorative, and Magisterium took on more of decision making, the Empire became more and more torn between their private games and vying for influence and power. The same can be seen in Orlais, now, when Celene has little authority, and the court becomes increasingly involved in the ruling.

‘Still, I thought it would be more of an issue to you lot. Giving up some of your independence, when you fought so hard for it.’ I add, a bit concerned.

I had counted on it, to be honest, and would hate to see their scorn, later, should they change their minds about that.

‘We trust you with it’ replies Nervlis seriously. I’m shocked, and humbled, looking at his face and seeing honesty shining from within. It means a lot for me, to hear him saying that. Out of the lot of them, he is the one to know me least, and still, he says that.

‘Not to mention, I do not expect it to differ much from the usual’ jokes Valeria, provoking a laugh from the others.

‘I’m not that bad!’ I protest half-heartedly.

‘You really are’ counters my unofficial adoptee, with an impish twinkle in her eyes.

Is that really how organizations begin? How did Shartan start his? Was it pre-planned, or maybe, just like mine, a random idea out of nowhere?

In his honour, I name us Wings. Though I forsake the ‘of Freedom’ part, uncomfortable with how cheesy and standoffish it sounds. But his was the largest, true, freedom organization in Tevinter, and I think this tradition should live on. Even if the original Wings are long gone, and deceased.

Although I have only a few people under my command, the sudden sense of responsibility over them is staggering.

I pray, fervently, that I can be as capable of a leader as Shartan was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is a bit shorter, but I wanted to finish it like that. 
> 
> And so, we are nearing the end of the Pride’s Redemption arc, one last chapter remains, already planned out – unless I have another, crazy idea to include, randomly, again. She needed to break out of her guilt, of her disinterest and aloofness, for what I thought of later to happen – and this was the main purpose behind meeting Valeria. Now, I’ve showed you another, as the Wings are officially created. I hope you like them. 
> 
> I would like to express my gratitude at all the comments, and I hope you like this, still a bit placid, chapter, as well.


	23. Soaring Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ASSUMPTIONS:  
> 1\. Thedas is the sole continent, a whole world of DA.  
> 2\. Original Inquisition timeline is around 8 years, and not 2 years, like it is according to Wiki.

**Soaring Pride**

Soon after the Wings are properly established, we follow up on a lead pertaining to the slaver owning the largest brothel in Minrathous, Crimson Curtain. The man was unfortunate to gain our attention by providing substantial financial support to Tessarian’s opposition. Currently, when the Magister Lucanus is trying to gain others for his reforms again, it becomes all the more crucial.

I see another opportunity, hidden within the mission, and the final plan is truly masterful. The rumours in Minrathous of a potential, new buyer for the Crimson Curtain spread, cautiously fuelled by us. We use this as a way of drawing our target out of town, feigning a meeting that is to discuss the proposed deal. It is easy enough to fabricate a bandit attack on the man. In the eyes of populace, after a successfully finished transaction, the slaver was robbed of his wealth on the way back, and killed.

Thus, when the Archivist comes back with a claim on the property, the guards question him, but without much conviction, or harshness. They already have a clear hypothesis regarding events. The resulting highwaymen hunt is an additional, unexpected bonus, which has me smiling gleefully for the next few days. Who knew it would turn out so unexpectedly well?

The man is dead, support for the opposition gone, and we gain our hideout, right in the middle of Minrathous, and under everyone’s noses. Perfect all around.

The first step we take is secretly freeing all of the slaves involved in the business, though we keep those who wish to stay. That’s when Esme joins Wings, a professional dancer with a penchant for pickpocketing, and also, a scout, like me, though specializing in archery. She is barely a few years older than Valeria, and the girls hit it off splendidly.

Her misfortune was that her parents got into too much debt, and her father sold her to the slavers, two years ago. Not an unusual practice in Tevinter, practiced also in Antiva and Rivain. Terrible, though.

She is quite disillusioned with life, and people, and at first, I am a bit worried about the influence she might have on my Da’len. Fortunately, my worries prove unwarranted, as the girl provides Valeria with a measure of cynicism my daughter lacked, while my spitfire helps her in getting over some of her terrors.

But Esme is not the only one to stay. Some of the… ladies also do, having known no other life than this, only now, they’re guaranteed proper salary. To cover for the missing numbers, we hire more, easily gathering the pretty and intelligent enough girls from the streets.

Taking up the management of the establishment, I find inspiration in what I remember of Japanese Geishas. They were, once, considered a cultured professionals and very highly priced for their services. I educate the girls working in Crimson Curtain; they are taught poetry and singing, or playing instruments, depending on individual talents and preferences, as well as the art of lovemaking. I am a bit embarrassed and self-conscious while stressing that, but my discomfort doesn't stop me from doing the job properly.

Another thing to make certain of is that everyone knows the rules have changed, and the girls come now under our protection. The patrons sign a contract of awareness of that before anything is allowed to happen, and mistreatment results in being thrown out of the establishment, and not allowed to return.

I sink a lot of my gathered wealth into this endeavour, but after less than a year, it starts paying off in spades. Not only in cash, although that, as well, is a welcome thing. The girls become one of the many means of gathering information of what is happening in Minrathous, often seducing it out of the lips of their patrons.

Even if I cannot understand, nor approve, really, of using one’s body in such instrumental way, even if everything in me rebels against such loss of pride and self-respect, I know, I cannot make choices for others. That would be an arrogance, and if some prefer coin, spending every last bit of their self-worth in exchange, well, at least I can make use of their mistakes. Save others, who do not wish to be used, or use themselves, like that.

We are very careful so that there’s no association between Crimson Curtain and our underground activities. In fact, we go a step further, and after pulling some strings, the Archivist takes over the trade routes of the slaver we had killed. He soon becomes well known in the slavers’ world, as someone always on the lookout for curiosities to buy – they all assume it relates to the brothel business.

The other Wings appreciate the irony of keeping the reputation of close ties with slave market and slavers. It is the darkest under the candlestick, and so, we take utmost care to never blow Archivist’s cover. Whenever a valuable information reaches our hands through him, we ensure to confirm it first from other sources, so that the leads never point to him.

It is a bit disturbing once I think that I’m currently the owner of the largest and most prosperous courtesan house in the whole Empire; possibly, whole Thedas, through the Archivist. Crimson Curtain has become synonymous with tasteful pleasure, an elitist club, where the rich come regularly, and the poor save their coin to have a single, dream-like visit.

Considering my rather disapproving stance on the prostitution, it is a fair bit… disconcerting.

One of the things the working girls find out is a tip regarding an illegal fighting ring, localized downtown in Minrathous. Remembering Shartan’s experiences with these things, and having no illusions regarding whether it’s changed for the better, just because over millennium had passed, I order Esme and Nervlis to investigate it.

Valeria pouts for days about my decision, and that’s when I realize she is sweet on the male elf. It reminds me of the fact that she is growing up, and a touch nervously, I have an incredibly awkward conversation with her regarding intimacy in general, and Nervlis in particular. I remind her that his life was much different to hers, and that she has to be careful with her steps, or she might get burned. On the side, I advise her to give it up. Relationships with such bundles of conflicting emotions never end well.

I do not know whether to feel disgruntled with her, or proud of myself that I had taught her so well, when she loftily disregards my words, stating that she will make, and suffer her own decisions.

After the fighting ring has been scouted, I gather my fellow Wings, and we launch a strike against this den of tragedy. We choose the timing to fall on the less crowded day, and set one corner of the place on fire, to drive out the visitors. Regardless of my distaste of them, and their involvement in this disgusting sport, their deaths would have forced authorities to intervene.

If, however, most of the people survive, it will be all chalked up to the jealous competition, and not pursued - since the fighting rings are, in fact, illegal.

It is the freeing of the fighters, former fighters, now, that becomes most challenging, amidst the heavy smoke. Is is making all of us light-headed and confused.

In one of those cells that I encounter Ebareth, a Qunari emotionlessly awaiting his death. I burn through the lock with fade touch, and start on the doors next to him, when I realize he hadn’t moved from the spot inside.

‘Run, you fool!’ I bark out, my temper flaring from the effort the steady drain of mana takes, as well as fighting off the dizziness from the heat and lack of air.

‘And where would I go? There’s no place accepting ones like me.’ He replies with aloofness, remaining as he was, and I realize he might be the sole person who didn’t mind being here. I sigh, incited. Really, **that’s** his reason for seeking death?

‘Well, as it appears I have gotten into habit of collecting strays, so you are welcome to tag along.’ I snap in exasperation, opening the last door in the row, and finding the room behind it empty. I wipe off the sweat from my face, and run outside, without realizing if he had followed. But he did, and I can feel disbelief on the other Wings faces, and raised eyebrows, when the horned man follows me around like a canine on a leash. Useful and effective, too. He draws attention of the foes with his mere, intimidating, appearance, allowing me my tricks without any hardship at all, as we smash into the vault. The dispatch of the guards there is a quick thing.

‘Only you, Quicksilver, would find a trained attack dog during a raid, and adopt him on the spot.’ Murmurs Riv with amazement, and I can feel my face heating up.

I clear my throat pointedly, focusing their attention on me, instead of the large man with a two-handed, bloodied axe in his arms, whom they were watching warily.

‘Enough of playing around, children, if you haven’t realized it already, the building is on fire. Let’s take everything we want from here, and ensure the flames do not go out before it burns to the ground.’

We get out jumping across the roofs, and with minor satisfaction observe the efforts of the city guard, scrambling around to put out the blazing fire. I am not worried about them succeeding. With as much oil as we poured around, it is certain that this den of depravity will become mere ashes, before they succeed. A wordless command, by a motion of my hand, and we leave the scene, along the previously prepared routes of escape.

As a result of this, and our previous actions, Wings get a lot of publicity in the anti-slavery underworld, and other groups reach out to Archivist with alliance and union offers. I leave it all up to him, happily disengaging myself from the diplomacy, and instead, focus on the Satinalia preparations. This year, they're hosted in the Crimson Curtain – two separate parties, really, one for the girls, and one for the Wings.

It turns out splendidly, courtesans praising the cuisine and alcohol provided. They spend the evening on leisurely conversations, which make my ears burn and throat go dry. Thay laugh, as I hastily slip away after checking up on them. On the corridor, I press m head against the cool wood and groan with mortification. Riv will never let me live this one down. Of course they laugh.

Still feeling the heat on the tips of my ears, I sneak in upstairs, to our private conference hall, where the others have already gathered. Archivist immediately attempts to draw me into conversation regarding the negotiations, but I cut him off firmly, stating that I refuse to do business on holidays. He grimaces a bit at that, but Sarie smiles with satisfaction. I nod to her in a friendly manner, as she drags her workaholic husband away from me.

Casting a glance about the room, I see Ebareth, my tamed pet, as Riv had jokingly called him, sitting in the corner with a lost expression on his face. Esme, clearly fascinated with him, tries to drag him out of it and to the group. I observe her for a while, until finally, dejectedly, she sighs and gives up. I make a resolve to have a serious talk with him after the celebrations are over. There must be something that explains such complete inaptitude in any inter-human, or, well, societal relationships, which he presents.

Ryanth and Tasha are lost in their own little world, again, rarely in contact with reality, and we just leave them to it. I must admit, there are days I am jealous of the certainty they have in one another, the faith, trust and love. 

On the other hand, Valeria, already a bit flushed from the alcohol, had clearly gained in courage, and boldly pesters Nervlis to say more about himself. I wonder whether I should intervene, but seeing a slight tug of his lips, decide that he can manage her well enough on his own. Instead, I reach to the glass of alcohol Riv had poured for me. From the suspicious glint in his eyes, I can see he intends to get me drunk and try getting in my bed yet again, and I smirk in condescension at the transparency of his plans.

It doesn’t stop me from swallowing the alcohol, in fact, I consider it a personal challenge to prove him wrong. Again. It is quite pleasurable to throw him off the high horse, walk over his overblown ego when it comes to his seducing abilities.  

‘C’mon, Nervlis, you’ve been to Archon’s estate, surely you have some stories to tell!’ Whines loudly Valeria, catching my attention. With an overly exaggerated sigh of aggravation, more for show than anything else, Nervlis relents, and explains some of the intricacies of the etiquette when addressing the Archon. This, more than anything, convinces me he really has a soft spot when it comes to my girl. Closing my eyes briefly, I pray they do not screw it up.

I return my attention to Nervlis’ words, as he elaborates on Valeria’s question regarding bowing to the Archon by walking to the center of the room, and performing a few distinctive ones.

‘I can’t believe they fucked even **this** up.’ I murmur to myself, casting a disdainful glance at Nervlis’ presentation of a formal obeisance to the Archon, rendered by his personal subjects.

‘You’ve said something, Mamae?’ Asks Valeria, and I am surprised she had heard me, even with all of her attention drifting to Nervlis. She is so attuned to him, it seems almost an effort for her to turn head my way, when she speaks.

‘I’m just in disbelief how ‘Vints could mutilate our customs to such degree, while adopting them’ I reply, taking another gulp of wine. It burns in my throat, and I know that I’m overdoing it; but I trust the people surrounding me, and it is a pleasant thing to let go while surrounded by friends. Well, **mostly** trust; I can see Riv observing my increasingly inebriated state like a hawk watching his prey. Or a cat ready to pounce.

‘Really, a tomcat’ I mutter in his direction, and he just grins. A Cheshire cat.

‘This bow is originally elven?’ nudges me Valeria, with a slightly widened eyes.

‘Yes. And it is all wrong, likely because they based it off of the scriptures and skewed paintings.’ I wave in Nervlis direction, still in the lowered pose. ‘It is supposed to be right leg kneeling on the floor, not the left one, and you are supposed to place right hand on your heart, not both on the ground.’

I can feel Valeria burning with curiosity at where do I get this random bits of lost knowledge regarding the ancient customs, but she, and the others, know that I dodge these questions, invariably. I might tell her, one day, the truth – some of it, at least – if she doesn’t figure it out on her own. She is a bright girl, though, and I suspect she will.

Nervlis tries to recreate my words, and while he manages to get the position somewhat right, it still doesn’t feel that way.

Why?

I look at him intensely, trying to remember, until it comes to me.

‘This is a bit wrong.’ I say slowly, scrambling for the proper phrasing, as the words do a small dance, and escape my consciousness unless I try to hold onto them tightly. ‘It’s supposed to follow a one-two-three internal rhythm, and not be… a random gesturing like this. Look, let me show you.’ I stand up, swaying a bit from the alcohol, but straighten, and focus my mind.

‘One, you lower yourself to your knee, in respect of the person’s authority, position, dominance, or whatever.’ In spite of the buzz in my head, the movements ingrained in my bones for years are automatic, even though it’s been many centuries since I performed the formal obeisance. My left thigh throbs from the pressure put on the muscles, pressing against the mangled bone, but I ignore it with ease coming from long practice. ‘Two, you put a hand on your heart to signify the purity of your intent.’ I follow my own instructions. ‘Three, you bow your head and put your fist on the ground, indicating your obedience and allegation, and willingness to follow orders.’ I freeze in the position for a few seconds, memories flashing through my head – I’ve never done that before anyone. I knew how, trained by the best of instructors under Mythal’s guidance, but never had anyone earned this from me. Still, I practiced, because that skill and knowledge were expected of me.

‘All the steps ought to take precisely the same amount of time, like a dance. It can be adjusted, too, depending on the circumstances’ I add, rising from the ground. ‘Sometimes there was no kneeling involved, among those of similar standing, or simply because the person did not feel that the other deserved deference. If you disagreed with the instructions you received, refraining from putting the fist down was a respectful way of expressing that. And so on’ I roll my eyes. ‘This was, however, used only in a situations of dependence, when one person was supposed to follow instruction of the other. Courtly bows between equals, or near equals, were much different.’

The topic changes afterwards, which I am grateful for, because I did not intend to ramble like that. Still, it chafes at me, how ‘Vints managed to misinterpret, and misrepresent, some of the prettiest traditions of the Arlathan. While I had never felt any inclination to perform this bow before anyone – even Fen, at least not when the court was still standing – I liked watching others do it, with grace and fluidity.

I end up thoroughly drunk, but not enough, to Riv’s disappointment, to allow him near. The evening is gone faster than I would have wished, and the following week, I spend swamped in meetings, as Archivist had finally managed to drag me along to the negotiations.

But also, I take time, and talk with Ebareth, at length.

The first time I met a Qunari, I was a both wary and curious. I learned that they’ve always settled on an island they call Par Vollen, but it was only once the sea-voyage technologies evolved that they had any significant contact with the rest of Thedas. Not surprising, considering the distances involved. It must have been a very perilous journey, especially with the beginning, weak ships, falling apart under the stronger gust of wind or bigger wave.

I was too involved with my own affairs, however, to pay much attention to these new players in the politics of Thedas. I dismissed them from my mind, believing them, similarly to Children of the Stone, too remotely located and disinterested to have major impact. I knew, in the back of my head, that they were there, but other things held my attention.

Satinalia remind me rather forcefully of how different Qunari really are from humans, and I spend the next few weeks trying to understand the differences, and where do they come from. What little Ebareth can tell me of the Qun – apparently, he was rather resistant to its teaching from the start, and after years away, he is not quite certain of his knowledge – has me both upset over it, and dismayed.

The Qun operates under the assumption that every individual has its place within the great system, and should strive solely for the general good, according to a predefined role he or she was assigned within the cogs of the mechanism. No personal property, no personal goals, no personal desires… No personality at all would be preferable, as I judge it critically.

A different kind of slavery, but a slavery nonetheless.

The idea of a system trying to control the very thoughts of the people it governs, has every last of my nerves strained. It goes against my very core. Sacrificing individuality, genius, beauty, for the safe, guaranteed mediocrity. Contradicting the values I built my life on, contradicting **me** , my pride, what I am, what I represent.

I must admit before myself to being woefully ignorant of it, and the dangers it poses, until now.

I do not know how the war on Seheron is going, aside from the fact that rather poorly, for the Empire – as they would be all bellowing out about the success, otherwise. I am not aware, why is it even happening there, in particular – is it positioned strategically? Or maybe it’s about some specific resources, from there? Where exactly is Par Vollen located, where Qunari come from, in the first place?

Ebareth is tasked with finding out those answers, and many more, for me. His familiarity with the Qun will allow him more ease, and I ensure that considerable funds go his way, from the treasury managed by Tasha – I will not leave such matters unsolved. I want to know everything there is to be known about the Qun.

The fact of my rather thorough misconception, and disregard, of the Qunari, has me uneasy for days, as I berate myself for these assumptions. It forces me to take a second look at the Children of The Stone, as I wonder, slightly panicked, whether I had not made similar mistake in regards to them, as well.

Fortunately, it turns out that at least in that, I wasn’t mistaken. The dwarves are as disinterested in the issues of the surfacers as ever before, even though some of them had left their underworld homes, chased away by the Blight, or the circumstances. Those that remained are as aloof and uncaring as ever, focused on their own, internal problems. Those that came up, mingled in with the human society, or created their own internal countries within countries, mimicking the ones in their original homes. Regardless, they are far more accepted by the Shems, than the elves.

It makes me a bit bitter, this disparate treatment of my fellow kinsmen, in comparison with relative newcomers. I guess it relates to the respect dwarven craftsmen receive, master smiths and enchanters, while the elves are seen as weaker, more useless counterpart to humans.

I ask Archivist to establish contact with the Merchant Guild, the largest dwarven organization above ground, deciding that even if dwarves appear disinterested in forcing their ideas upon others, it wouldn’t hurt to be kept in the know. Not to mention, they are the best weaponsmiths and inventors on Thedas, and Wings could use their expertise and creations.  

I completely forget about my diatribe from Satinalia, until Valeria, jokingly, does the formal bow I presented, before me, after I give her a stern thrashing for carelessness during one of the missions. I bristle, a bit, but let it go without a word.

Unfortunately, my dismissal of it causes the others to follow up on Valeria’s example, and it evolves into a running joke, among the group. Particularly precious, since they know perfectly well how much I dislike it.

Until it is not a joke anymore, when the girls from the Curtain pick up on it, as well. Only in their case, it is a sign of true respect towards me, and I cannot laugh it up, when I look at their heads, bowed in deference before me. It is their gratitude for the improvements of their lives, it is their obedience, it is their devotion. It is everything this bow was supposed to represent, and it scares me. But I cannot forbid it, faced with their sincerity.  

It becomes truly disturbing when the newcomers to the Wings, at first only results of an union agreements drafted by the Archivist, but later, others as well; start doing this, too. I curse my wagging tongue to demons, hating the situation – I really should have kept my mouth shut. I am placed as a leader, according to all the agreements, but I had never wished to be placed above them. Especially not in such manner, likened to the powers of old. I do not deserve it, nor can I have an impact similar to Evanuris, ability to shape the reality, by any means.

But I cannot deny, in comparison to those in power right now, my sway is considerable… as is my information network, encompassing most regions of Thedas. The scale of our operations also increases significantly, as we gain in resources and people.

And we gain both fast. The growth of the Wings is rapid, as more and more of the freedom related organizations across the Empire, and outside of it, pledge allegiance to us… me, really. Also, most of the freed slaves wish to involve themselves in this vast network, out of gratitude, but also, because it gives a fresh meaning to their existence. Some of them, after earning some cash and gaining in certainty, leave, to lead their new lives afterwards. But the majority remains, entangled in the operations, and personally involved with the cause.

The very thing I feared happens, the casualty and easy friendship lost to the grater purpose we serve. It soon becomes impossible to know every person involved with the Wings, impossible to control everything. To ascertain it happens according to my preferences, and conscience, I am forced to delegate more and more duties to trusted others. The initial members of the Wings scatter to various tasks, rarely ever on the field – some relief, as I do not have to worry about them, but also, a small regret, as I enjoyed our shared time during these assignments.

Sometimes, I make mistakes, placing faith in the undeserving. I try to rectify them, as fast as possible, and those who had failed me, and my hopes, come to sorely regret it, rarely surviving my disappointment. The harshness is what I’ve learned from Shartan, helping in establishing, and maintaining authority over people barely knowing you. The fact that you care for them, make sure they are in the very best hands, used to the best of their abilities, and it is what earns true loyalty, is the second thing he taught me. I strive my best to follow every little bit of knowledge I gleaned from him, even if my Wings had already exceeded his, both in terms of size, as well as influence.

And more and more people bow before me, as I come to be both revered, and… feared. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is for Calescent. I am glad that you are still with me on this adventure, after all this time – what, two months since I’ve begun, and from chapter 1, too. 
> 
> And so, we are finishing up on this Arc, with the Wings’ growth beyond the small group of friends, and developing into proper organization. Would anyone care to guess, where will we go next?


	24. Vigilant Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ASSUMPTIONS:  
> 1\. Thedas is the sole continent, a whole world of DA.  
> 2\. Original Inquisition timeline is around 8 years, and not 2 years, like it is according to Wiki.

**Vigilant Pride**

Fortunately, the Wings slow down their growth considerably after two frenzied years, to almost nothing, and I start believing it is going to be manageable. The leaders of the branches are chosen, as well as chiefs of the operations. Everything becomes more organized, and I start settling down, and finally getting a few hours of undisturbed rest during the night.

If there’s one thing I’m proud of, it’s the information network we establish. Former slaves have a tendency to be good workers, and easily find employment in various places, meaning that I have information from all courts on Thedas, knowing what goes on in his palace better than the Archon himself, better than empress Celene.

At first, our relationship with Antivan Crows is quite strained, as they dislike prying eyes in their courtyard. But after a few tense months we reach an accord. They revoke their protection over the slavers in Antiva, and stop taking any assassination contracts on any Wing members, in exchange for information we provide, as well as some recruits.

It is not that hard to find them, as there are some former slaves who burn with desire for revenge. Getting into the Crows allows them to get the training necessary to hope for attaining it, trading ten years of service in return. Heavy price, by my estimation, but the Crows’ instructions are impeccable, they produce the very best, of all Thedas.

While I am confident in matching up against the best of them, straight on, their more covert, subtle methods are beyond me, the poisons and traps. I am quite glad for our alliance, as it means less worries over my safety, but more importantly, the safety of those close to me.

Wings are, or, to be precise, I am, also contacted by Briala of Orlais, a spymistress to the Celene. She expresses her desires to join forces, appealing to our common heritage, as she claims to try and better the fate of the elves in her country. By lending her support to the Empress, and gaining more influence over her, she believes she can improve their lives. Make their standing equal to humans, in society.

Personally, while I wish her very best in the endeavour, I remain sceptical. The prejudices against the elves run very deep, in Orlais, particularly, almost the worst of all. It is where the Exalted March on the Dales originated from, and nearly half of their territory consists of the former elven lands. The Orleasians haven’t forgotten the original propaganda which had spurred them on, even if the Chantry long rescinded its harsh judgement over the elves.

They rescinded it, of course, once the Dales was long torn apart, the elves in exile, disarray, and constant exodus.

These, and many other instances, remind me why precisely I dislike, no, detest, the Chantry.

Also, Celene is a weak Empress, and no amount of support will really change that. She isn’t particularly talented, nor does she inspire trust, with her bland personality, and practiced aloofness. It means that very few talented people enter her service, most vying for the attention of charismatic Gaspard. She is incapable of successfully making the reforms Briala dreams of, plain and simple, particularly so when her throne is shaking.

Taking it all into account, I have no hopes on Orlais. In fact, I believe nothing will change for the elves, unless they find a new leader, who would gather them and show the path to greatness.

Fen could do that, if he ever got over his dislike of the Dalish, and the servility of the City Elves. Had he been awake, in the first place.

And I do not want to involve Wings in lost causes. One is more than enough, by my estimation.

So, I reject Briala’s offer, and caution my people in Orlais to keep away from hers, in case she tries to avenge her disappointment.

Even if our reach envelops the whole Thedas, a web of people connected to us, we focus our efforts on Tevinter. While slavery exists outside of it, in Rivain and Antiva, and some people hide it, but keep slaves in Orlais and Ferelden as well, the Empire remains the center, and focal point of it. If we are to ever squash it, the reform must come from here. Yet, in spite of giving our best, Tessarian’s reforms fall just short of being accepted, again.  

To my dismay, Danarius returns to the Imperium, and the good graces of the court. I am not aware of the details behind his return, how precisely had he distinguished himself to earn forgiveness. I sigh in dejection, aware that it was inevitable, but nonetheless, I had hoped it wouldn’t happen. The man is a menace. My sole consolation is that his influence on the events remains marginal. None of the others dare to associate too closely with an acclaimed foe of the House of Lucanus.

A few months later, however, I rejoice, as he stumbles once more. His prized pet betrays, and deserts him, leaving Danarius, once again, shamed, and disfavoured. Hopefully, for good, this time.

I do not feel all that comfortable with the fact that the Ghost is on the loose. I am satisfied that Danarius had lost him, and cannot use him anymore for his own, sinister purposes. But. I do not believe such damaged personality could survive on his own, without wreaking havoc, when there’s no one to hold the leash on his neck. From what I know of him, the man was damaged by the ritual, possibly, irreparably, and that means a very powerful individual lacking the inhibitions normal person would have. Alas, it is none of my business, and as long as the Ghost does not cross my way, again, I wish him all the best in his hard fought freedom.

Though I have no doubts the reality won’t be kind on him, as Danarius is certain to try and reclaim him. Not only because of the investment he had put into his creation, but also, to prove that he can bring him to heel, and make his Ghost useful again. It would rise him in the esteem of his patroness, once more, regain some of the badly damaged, by now, repute.

I put the issue out of my mind soon enough, swamped by the more crucial matters, all requiring my immediate attention. There are days when I wish I could just leave it all behind, missing my former freedom of movement. Missing the days spent idly in the wilds, wandering without aim and goal. Now, such pastimes are impossible, as there are not enough hours in the day to do everything that’s needed.

My irritation at the situation grows, an out of it, an idea is born. I begin teaching Valeria what it takes to be my second, and for Ryanth and Tasha to support her. It will take some time, before she is ready, but there’s no other I would rather see, or trust, in this role.

Years pass, and information reaches me that the Blight has struck in Ferelden. It is, apparently, both unexpected, and years late, as the predictions placed them every hundred years, and the current one is after what, three centuries without this plague breakout? I take it as a yet another proof that the Maker isn’t, in fact, responsible for it. He would have kept his claim, otherwise, about it being a recurring punishment, and upheld the schedule.

However, is spite of my desires and keen interest in what it really is, and wish to see it up close, personally, I cannot, as a tragedy strikes the Wings. Archivist gets sick.

To be more precise, he has been sick for a while already, and now, the symptoms merely worsen. Initially they were mild, months before any news of the Blight. We all disregarded it, believing it to be merely a cold. The man was coughing, and wheezing, and looking at his pure white hair, I remembered again – he is old.

I eased up his workload to almost nothing, and we waited for the signs of improvement. And for a while, it seemed as if it has indeed passed. The man returned to work, a bit paler and thinner, and I was struck, again, by the reminder of his mortality. By the mortality of them all.

I had, somehow, managed to forget it.

Valeria, without me fully realizing it, outgrew her youth, and her initially shy flirting with Nervlis turned into fully fledged relationship. Riv is becoming slower and slower, as he gains on years, and conscious now of this fact, I remove him from the active duties, making him a trainer for my Wings, as well as give him the control over Crimson Curtain and other headquarters-related duties, which used to be a part of Archivist’s tasks. Tasha and Ryanth had been trying for a child, for years, already, without much success. Esme had ensnared Ebareth, to my utter shock, and they make for the most mismatched pair I have ever seen. But it works for them, and it is not my place to judge.

Only I remain, as I ever was, unchanged. Never before had my immortality chafed quite as much, when I think that I will have to watch them die, all of them. They will pass away, in front of my eyes, mere wisps, moments on the fabric of the universe.

The ‘travelling between the worlds’ thing helped me forget about this fact, until now. I’ve never remained for long enough to actually have to say goodbyes, to anyone. People died, around me, some, by my hand, but I managed to push it out of my thoughts.

I walk into Archivists office, intending to announce my plans to assist Ferelden, personally investigate the Blight, but the words die on my lips, when the man starts coughing convulsively. I run to his side, supporting him before he falls on the floor, and with sudden dread, and fear, look at his hand. There’s blood, there. He is coughing with blood.

Of course, any notions of my travelling anywhere are a foregone conclusion. All of my closest people are recalled from their faraway stations – Esme and Ebareth had been in Rivain, and Valeria and Nervlis in Orlais, at the time – to try and make up for Archivist’s absence, and watch over him.

I do not want to think about it, but I know, for certain, that the man is dying. That there are no solutions to be had, as he weakens, in front of me. There’s nothing I can do to help him, but allow comfort, and company of the people closest to him. 

My powerlessness hurts.

More news reach us from Ferelden, of the failure of Cailen’s Army, and Loghain’s insurrection. Teyrn Mac Tir attempts to rule the country through the authority of his daughter, wife to the deceased Cailen Theirin, and the Queen. For months, the worrying tales of disarray in Ferelden spread, rumours of Warden’s betrayal which had, theoretically, caused the failure of stopping the Blight. I am sceptical as to their legibility, as the Wardens had nothing to gain from the gamble, as opposed to the one spreading these rumours, Loghain.

I pull put my agents out when the Landsmeet is announced, worried about their safety, expecting a rebellion. They return to Minrathous, bringing news of the survival of some of the Wardens, and their involvement with the Kinloch Hold, chief Circle of Magi in Ferelden, and the mysterious demonic tragedy there. It seems one of the Wardens was formerly from there, as well, a woman named Solona Amell.

Achivist’s condition worsens, after their return, and with bated breath, and constricted hearts, we await the inevitable. Seria comes to visit me, as I struggle with the paperwork, in the hidden basement of the Curtain.

 ‘He asks for you, Fean’Na.’ Her voice hitches, but she looks straight at me, without flinching.

‘Of course.’ I stand up from behind the desk, and dress my cape, pulling a hood over my hair, hiding my face in its shade. The one way to leave not pestered, for me, now.

I enter his room, and feel a stab of pain, at how badly the man looks. His skin seems paper thin, near translucent, I can see the blue veins beneath it. The breath he draws is soft, wheezing, and his voice rasps, as he says conversely,

‘The moment you walked through the door of my office, I knew I had someone very, very special in front of me. Someone, whom people would follow.’

I walk to his bedside, and lower myself on the chair, grasping his hand and gently caressing it. 

‘You were the one who brought us this far, Archivist.’ I reply, with tearing eyes, feeling his weak pulse under my fingers. My heart weeps, remembering him as he once was, with eyes full of life, and vitality.

‘I just gave it a small, small push. You, and who you were, are, was what made it happen.’ He coughs, and I reach to the water glass, of which he takes a small sip. ‘The Wings are magnificent, you made them magnificent. Beyond anything I could have imagined.’

He takes another grating breath.

‘Do not be sad, Pride.’ I am shocked by his use of this alias, that he had remembered, even though I mentioned it only once. But he did, and in this, I can see, he understood me better than most, perhaps better than even Valeria. ‘I have lived a good life, and am departing with an awareness that I assisted in creation of something more, a legacy which will live on.’

He pats my hand reassuringly, not mentioning the quiet tears, flowing down my cheeks, and dropping onto his sheets.

‘Take care, my friend. It was a true honour, knowing you.’

The next day, he passes away.

And as Fereldens celebrate the dawn of a new era, as King Alistair marries Queen Anora; the Wings mourn the loss of the most valued member.

We reach out to each other, and grieve, remembering him. I invite Seria and Archivist’s daughter, Fiona, to join us, and they accept it, glad to share their sadness with us. The days seem more bleak, even though we had been, seemingly, prepared for this.

This event reminds me forcefully of the superficiality of the power I wield. I can, to a degree, affect the politics of Thedas, can anticipate the events before they happen, to an extent of my knowledge and spy network.

But when it comes to the things that truly matter, it is all beyond my reach. I can take life, but I can’t give it. No one could, even Evauris, magic as helpless in this as it ever was. More so, stunted as it is by the Veil, separating it from the reality. But I know, even Sylaise, even Mythal, could not have saved him. This is the fate of the Shems, to pass away, their lives fleeting and short.

While me? Death avoids me, it will continue avoiding me. Unless I do something very stupid, and get killed.

I miss Fen. I miss the certainty his presence gave me, the tranquillity. He is the only one remaining on this side who is as I am, unaffected by the flow of the time, and could comprehend my woes. I believe he would see the strength of my companions, their worth, as I do, would be happy for me, and understanding of my sadness. The other Elvhen always shunned the Quicklings, disdainful of their frailty, of their temporariness.

But he still sleeps, and the loneliness assaults me with renewed strength.

I throw myself back into work, focusing my attention on the events in Ferelden again, now that the stability had returned to the region, sending people back in. I wish to find out how the Blight had affected the politics in Thedas, and what had really happened, there.

After Archivist’s death, his daughter, Fiona, takes over most of his duties within the Wings. I didn’t even realize, but he has been preparing her for that role for years, aware of the slipping time far more than me. I am awash with gratitude at both his foresight, and care. We would have been lost without it many times over.

The messages return, relaying that yes, the Blight is truly over, merely after a year. The shortest one by far, in the whole history. Solona Amell sacrificed her life while slaying the Archdemon, and, to honour her, King Alistair has ordained lessening of the restrictions the mages face in Ferelden. The rumour has it the two had been lovers, and the King mourns the loss, deeply.

In the political sense, Blight had almost no effect, aside from the change of the ruler, in Ferelden.

Orlais still reigns supreme among the kingdoms, but it is clear to those with keen sight its dominance is ending. Celene is a weak empress – unable to rally people to her cause, relying on the flighty nobles to support her, desperately hanging onto the scraps of power. Duke Gaspard is one whom people follow – but not the rightful heir, and frankly, aside from his military talents, there’s little to recommend him for the seat of power. His private province had declined under his rule, and I do not think gaining a throne would suddenly improve his administrative skills.

I wonder which of the human kingdoms will take up the mantle next – and my eyes drift to Ferelden, surprisingly well off after the Blight tragedy – and unified. The death of the former monarch turned out to be a blessing, ridding them of – as I was told – an incompetent, foolhardy idiot with a mush instead of a brain. The throne is firmly held in the hands of the widow after him, Queen Anora, a shrewd and calculating politic. Her unpleasant tendencies are mitigated by her more even tempered husband, Alistair, staunchly supported by the populace as one of the Heroes responsible for ending the Blight, and Ferelden thrives under their joint rule.

Antivans are still far too divided to become interested in world domination – though, I suspect, if they ever found a common cause, the situation would change drastically.

Rivain as always cares little of the outside world, engaged in petty squabbles with Antiva. But they’re on a slippery slope, steadily weakening, year after year.

Tevinter remains as it ever did, in a standstill in their war with Qunari, and hindered by their internal, petty squabbles.

Qunaris’ spreading influence can be felt throughout Thedas – and it frightens me. Their philosophy stands in direct opposition to everything I’ve ever fought for.

I’ve been observing the Qun fanatics from the carefully maintained distance through my network of spies for a while already, managed by Ebareth on my orders. The other Wing members call it my obsession, and grumble about it diverting the resources from our main goal, but no one dares to oppose me on the issue directly. Just as well – I wouldn’t back down, and it would have had a rather tragic ending for one bringing it up.

But now my worries increase tenfold, as certain rumours reach me from Kirkwall, of all places – that the Qunari had managed to create a substance called gaatlok; something resembling what the dwarves use in their mines, but much more resilient and potent, and most importantly, not relying on lyrium – a Thedasian version of gunpowder? No, it is much stronger, less volatile, and easier to transport. And it fucking terrifies me, because Tevinter has nothing that would match up to once they started mass production; magic can only get them so far, and even in that regard, the Qunari are catching up.

The only bottleneck that remains is transportation, as there are little resources suitable for shipbuilding on Par Vollen – which is why Seheron is so crucial for them.

For all my honest dislike of the way Empire progressed after their very spectacular loss to Andraste, they’re literally the only thing standing between Thedas and the Qun supremacy. Who else can stop them? Orlais with its ridiculous fears that cripple it, and meaningless games, preventing from growth? It was a faith-based empire, and it’s already crumbling. In comparison to Tevinter’s three-millennium old history of greatness, it is laughable. Maybe the North Eastern countries, like Antiva? They’re merchant based countries, and their military strength is negligible, oscillating around their pirate fleets. And the said fleets had only succeeded in keeping Qunari away thus far because Seheron is not wholly of Qun, not yet. Rivain had already fallen to the horned people once before, and from what I know of them, I am not counting on improved performance this time around.

I cannot let this war happen, not with the way things stand now.  With that thought, and not much else in mind, I set out for Kirkwall. It takes longer than I would have wished, finalizing all the unresolved issues before my departure, leaving most of my duties in the hands of my second. Valeria does not appreciate being saddled with babysitting – as we secretly call these responsibilities in a jest – during my absence, but aside from a long sigh, I hear no complaints from her. It will be the longest time for her to be left in charge without my support, but she has Ryanth and Tasha by her side, and I believe in her abilities. 

I have no specific plan, for the moment, but hopefully, something will come up. I just know that the Qunari dreadnought’s landing in Free Marches is no accident, they definitely want something. I doubt it is a premise of the invasion; Qunari don’t  **do**  premises, they just invade. But the aims of this party remain obscure, and in the meantime, I’ve no doubts they’re doing a fair share of recruiting and sowing discontent. The sole blessing is that such military companies have usually but a few Ben-Hassrath, how they call their spies, accompanying them, who are best trained for such operations.

On the other hand, which is so not a good news, Arishok is with them.  **The**  one and only Arishok, official leader of the whole Qunari army, one of the three pillars of the Qun society. What the fuck is he doing here, in the backwater, away from his responsibilities? What was deemed so necessary to have him leave Par Vollen, and ostensibly, sit duck, for three years already?

Even had I other plans, his presence would have been enough motivation to get me moving. My damnable curiosity would not let it stand.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand! Time skips, my dear readers! This is more of an introductory chapter, a stage setting, for the new Arc, as well as brief outline of the Origin events, which I’m going with. Some of this knowledge will be of use, further on in the story. And I’m sorry, no, no Inquisition for a while yet. 
> 
> Dedicated to CoffeRebel, I am glad you are so enthusiastic about it all. Regarding Archivist, I wouldn’t really call him a political support – while Fean’Na never finds out about that, in my mind, he is a former spy, whose life had ups and downs, until he had finally aligned himself with the anti-slavery causes, possibly after meeting, and befriending Nervlis, although he held such opinions before. He is an information broker, who manipulated, slightly, the events by ensuring the right things reached proper ears, but other than that, he is – was – keeping away from the spotlight, for his, and his family’s, safety.  
> The one with true sway is Tessarian, as a highly positioned Magister with an influence over Archon Radonian, himself. 
> 
> Erynnsilver, it appears you were the only one to guess it right. ^^


	25. Dauntless Pride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I am stretching facts, here, especially in regards to the Offered and Lost Quest, which states that the Emissary had other Qunari guards accompanying him. Well, for the sake of the story, I am going with 'unarmed, honour guards' option. Forgive me?

**Dauntless Pride**

With the death of the Archivist the consequences on the Wings were profound, and patching up all of the holes took a long time. Which is why the original news of Qunari landing had somehow escaped my attention, and only once I’ve heard of the gaatlock, I reacted personally. Three years after their landing, but while they still remain, it gives me a chance to find out what they’re after.

Wings have quite a large hideout within Kirkwall, as it is the largest port town in Free Marches, making it a center of any redeployment of our agents to southern Thedas, Ferelden in particular. I begin my work within the town by confirming the sources of our information, regarding the Qun. We have installed some of our people within the ranks of Qunari as presumed converts, but the information we get from them is limited, as their movements are carefully watched.

Some of our findings come from the outside sources, and mere observation. The dwarf by the name of Javaris had tried to trade the substance from them, but was, unsurprisingly, refused. Ever since, he has been bemoaning the unfairness of fate, and cursing a man called Hawke for his… how did he phrase it, again? Oh, right. An utter lack of any business sensibilities.

Considering he had lost most of his wealth on this rather risky gamble, I happen to doubt, whether his competences in the matter allow for any judgement whatsoever.

This Hawke, on the other hand, is quite interesting, and has gathered a bunch of very talented people around him. A sure sign of competency. Celene, for example, has been, thus far, incapable of that; even Briala remains by her side mostly because she wants to use her.

Two of the said companions, especially, catch my attention.

Varric Tethras, a member of a Merchant Guild of obscure responsibilities, but, as our sources report, vast connections. The Wings are not quite so well connected to get a hold on reliable information regarding him, but the dwarf himself is… shifty. Shrewd. And talented.

If he believes this… Garret Hawke to be a person worthy lending his assistance to, then there must be more to the man than meets the eye.

The other one I find surprising to see by Hawke’s side is the Ghost. From what I get from my spies, he has been around nearly as long as the Qunari. Why did he come to Kirkwall, of all places, is beyond me – Tevinter influences in the city run strong. Slavers easily find their way here, protected by the local nobles; as do the bounty hunters. For him, it’s like sticking a hand into hornet’s nest. Inexplicably reckless.

Then again, considering that he has managed to remain uncaptured, he must be doing something right.

I am glad to see him following a strong personality like Hawke’s. Obviously, my perceptions of him needing such leadership weren’t mistaken, even if he had matured somewhat since our meeting. I observe him, them, for a few days, as they traverse the city, a group of people with surety to their steps unlike any others in this hovel.

Because that’s what Kirkwall really is, from my perspective. It is the very image of the worst that Tevinter had to offer, built solely with intimidation in mind. The sculptures of the broken people, the chains, and the Gallows, which used to be a slave holding cells, but now, house the mages, and their Templar jailers.

Fitting, in a way, that the mages are placed there. It underlines the reality of their miserable situation quite accurately.

The streets are littered with trash, dirty and disgusting. Even the so-called Hightown is a joke from its Tevinter origins, the mansions here would be considered, at best, merchant worthy. Not ornamented enough, nor truly luxurious, and yet, the nobles here behave as if they own the world.

It tickles my interest why Danarius would have acquired an estate here, so below his, or any of the Magisters’, standards. But is has been years, since he last visited, my people tell me, and likely, impossible to find out more about it. So, sadly, I abandon the issue.

At first, I take care to familiarize myself with the city, before attempting to approach the Qunari compound. I am very interested, but I have no intentions of getting caught while spying on them. So I learn the layouts, the crooks of the buildings, and choose my locations carefully, before trying anything.

However, my caution gets thrown to the wind, once I learn that Hawke has been summoned by the Arishok. This, I have to see.

Of course, rejection on the man's part is not an option. I barely manage to scale up on the roofs, and jumping across, position myself above them, when Hawke appears, with his companions. He is allowed inside immediately, and I take a moment to study him – he is a bit surprised, but not afraid.

I do not see Ghost by his side, but an unfamiliar female in Guard’s uniform, a man who is clearly a mage – and how did he avoid capturing, right under Meredith’s nose, I wonder – and Varric Tethras. Barely four, but it is a suitable number, enough to appear important, but unthreatened. It’s not like they could take on the Qunari, if the horned soldiers decided to attack, anyway.

And then, my attention drifts, and stays, on the reason of me being here - the Arishok.

I am astounded. He is the very image of might, and I can see why within the Qun, he is considered an inspiration, a true embodiment of what a warrior should strive for. But there’s something in him I did not anticipate, an air of nobility. Unexpected, in one so clearly devoted to the Qun, and I wonder, how does that affect him.

I can hear Arishok’s confusion at the workings of human society, when he speaks with Hawke. The disorder, inequality and aimlessness of the city offend everything in him, and insult his ingrained values. Under the Qun, Kirkwall would not have existed, ever. He throws it in Hawke’s face, and asks him, what is worth preserving here?

Hawke has no answer for that, aside from that he is trying to make it better.

I could offer it to him, had I dared to come down. Maybe one day, I will.

It is pride, Arishok, the pride to go on in spite of adversity, that, which you strip out of your society – among other things. Qunari cannot take pride in themselves, because, according to their teachings, the only worthy thing is the Qun itself. The individuals are meaningless, important only as long as they further the goals of the philosophy. Even he, so great and accomplished, cannot be proud of his achievements, as they are for the glory of Qun. If Arishok ever admitted he is satisfied with his successes, it would be a prime example of egoistic selfishness, and it would have cost him everything.

As always, without admitting self-worth, there’s no pride. I taught Valeria that, and now, looking at the scene below, wonder, if I couldn’t teach that to him, as well. He is half-way there.

But no, the idea is ludicrous. He would never listen, the Qun too deeply ingrained into him, after so many years.

A shame.

Arishok says unexpected thing, then, and tells, warns really, Hawke, of the stolen poisonous gas formula. I feel my pulse quickening at that, aware of the danger it poses; all the while wondering why had he said so. There’s no apparent gain to be had, and, considering his distaste with the city, I would expect him to just leave it be. Curious.  

For a moment, after they leave, I entertain a thought of personally approaching Hawke, but the idea is gone as soon as it appears.

There are far too many eyes watching him for my visit to go unnoticed. There’s no information I could offer that he hasn’t already known – why, the Arishok told him they’re to stay, until their goals are fulfilled, so even that is not a question mark anymore. Not that it could ever be, the more sensible people knew from the start that the Qunari are here for a specific reason.

Not to mention, there’s nothing in it for me, as well. I am curious of him, of what kind of man he is, but aside from that, no other gains for me.

Interesting, by the way, what is the thing that got stolen from Qunari. So important, they remained stranded here for a long time, attempting to reclaim it. Also, strange, that they expect to find it in Kirkwall.

There are other, pressing issues, now, however. Like poisonous gas. Swiftly, I traverse the city to the Darktown, and tell my Wings to find out as much as possible. Arishok suspected Javaris, but from my reports, it seems highly unlikely the man could arrange anything as complicated as a theft requiring careful preparations. No, it is someone else.

Local Wings members, motivated by the fear, eagerly follow my instructions, and reach out to the merchants. Has anyone been acquiring suspiciously large amounts of ingredients? By the hour, I already have a legitimate guess as to who is responsible; and by the evening, we are ready to seize the stuff from Tirioll, a female elf of questionable sanity. Whether she was unhinged from the beginning, or did the stuff change her, it is hard to say, but she and her people seem very determined to begin a war in Kirkwall.

The warehouse where the production was taking place is, surprisingly, mostly deserted, barely a few people to take care of. Cursing, after a brief look, I realize that some of the barrels with the stuff must have been already distributed.

‘Where the fuck is she?!’ I growl with anger, sending my Wings scrambling for answers, trembling with fear. They all know what’s at stake, here, and none have a death wish.

Fortunately, it appears that while I was shutting down the empty operation business, Hawke had encountered the Fanatic in the midst of her work. My Wings are quick to inform me that the barrels of poisonous gas have been sealed, and transported to the Guard Barracks. Tirioll had tried to kill Hawke, and died, herself.

I sigh with a bit of regret – I would have loved getting my hands on her, interrogating her. Somehow, it seems a touch too clever and well organized operation for an elf; especially since she was in charge of many humans. The people in Kirkwall are just as prejudiced against my race as anywhere else. How did she get in contact with them, not to mention begin leading them, in the first place?

These, and many other questions, will remain unsolved, now.  

I take another look around, and forcefully squash the desire to keep the treacherous thing for our use. Instead, I order the burning down of the whole building, as I would hate for anyone getting a hold on it. The sole thing I retain from the place is the formula, which I intend to send back to the Headquarters in Minrathous. Wings there can try and come up with some sort of antidote, for it, hopefully. I would hate for the Qunari to catch us unprepared, with it.

I also order a quiet disposal of the stuff from Viscounts Keep. My people can make it disappear easily enough, and the man will be forced to claim it was done by his order, or admit incompetence. The choice, at least for me, is pretty obvious.

After this particular drama is done and over with, I return to keeping a close scrutiny over the Qunari operations. From the distance, I observe their recruitment offices, and how they operate. A few Ben’Hassrath they have around walk Kirkwall, ostensibly for supplies, unnerving people. In fact, they’re out gathering information under the disguise of this excuse, and I am also unnerved, but for a much different reason than fear. They are very skilful at using the intimidating presence they exude to make others talk, without resorting to violence, which would violate the accord they have with the Viscount. Very, very proficient.

I cannot help but watch the Arishok. He is, clearly, a warrior above all, yet underneath it all, hides a capable mind and strong conviction. A bit too straightforward in his approach, perhaps, but that’s why Qunari have Ben-Hassrath about. His role is to lead an army; from the front, by example, rising morale and fighting spirit, and I can easily see why he was the one chosen for the role.

He is fucking impressive.

I wonder if the Qunari is aware of my constant scrutiny. In spite of their best attempts, the compound is far from being separate of the rest of the city, and I can easily scale the walls, and cross the roofs, allowing for safe vantage points. His warriors cannot, too heavy and unwieldy for such escapades, and all the while, so high and mighty, they rarely ever look up, above. They are disdainful and disregarding of the Kirkwallers and their fearful behaviour, and it works heavily to my advantage.

It makes me marvel, how easily the superficial pride can cross and turn into arrogance. They are so full of themselves, so certain of their superiority, they fail to see their own weaknesses. Then again, I doubt any of the citizens would actually dare what I’m doing.

I suspect the Arishok might be somewhat exempt from the rule, as it is his gaze that sometimes flutters across the rooftops, and his eyes are the ones I have to take care to avoid. Maybe it’s instinctive, the ingrained awareness of the danger lurking nearby which raises his senses. Still, I am careful enough to avoid being caught, and instead, gather as much information as I can.

The Qunari voices carry easily, and I can comprehend why, when they need secrecy, they use a hand language. Unfortunately for them, the Wings had, at my behest, cracked it long ago, with the assistance of some of the Qunari we freed from Tevinter cages in the slave market, during a raid we made a while back. And my eyesight, while incapable of perceiving magic, still far exceeds that of an average Shem, or even elf. 

But, truth to be told, little happens in the compound for most of the time, and I spend days and days leisurely skimming over the reports I have of Kirkwall, waiting for a break to happen.

What I read through tells me the city is a mess. I was already aware of the growing tensions between Templars and Mages; Tasha gave me a very stern warning to keep my abilities tightly concealed, for my own sake. It seems it has gotten even worse from the time she had left, a lit fuse ready to explode. I consider pulling out my people, at least those that work closely, or in relation to the Gallows, for their safety. Little political manoeuvring happens here, and Meredith is also kept away from any important decisions of the Templar Order, so there’s little to lose.

The weakness of the Viscount is also a pretty apparent thing. I know that it is the precise reason why he was chosen, but he is the very image of mediocre bureaucrat positioned way above his abilities. The sole saving grace is that he seems aware of that, and has managed to secure a support of a relatively talented man as his right hand.

Seneschal Bran is overly arrogant person, with a tendency to look down on those of humble origins, but no one can deny his competences. Truth to be told, the city runs mostly thanks to his efforts; he is the one who had pushed for Aveline Valen as a guard captain, once the previous one’s corruption had come to light. People thought him insane, and the Viscount was rather adverse to the notion. A risky move on his part, entrusting the security to a Ferelden refugee, but it has paid off is spades. The guard in Kirkwall is one of the best managed I have ever seen, and the most competent. 

Yet, regardless, there are things that escape his notice, or are beyond his influence. The unrest in town regarding the Qunari presence is a rising tide, which Bran cannot seem to control, and the Viscount seems to think they have no means of resolving by force.

Considering the origins of the unrest seem to have Chantry roots, it is little wonder no matter what they do falls flat. I write a few notes on the reports, pointing this out, and asking Wings' spies around to investigate more.

The boredom is soon broken by yet another provocation aimed at Qunari – someone seems to have captured the delegates sent by Arishok to negotiate with the Viscount. The situation makes me roll my eyes – truth to be told, the man ought to have either invited the Arishok as an honoured guest to the Keep, or came down himself. The fact that he tries to, well, contain the influence, is both a slight, as well as a sign of his patent lack of understanding of Arishok’s role within the Qun society.

I can feel the horned man’s rage at the undue death of the emissaries, who were, as per agreement, unarmed while going through the Kirkwall. What I find ridiculous is that the Viscount failed to provide a proper guard, if that was the case. Going from one end to another without a weapon is dangerous for the human, and on a better day, one might, luckily, escape the robbery. On the worse, end up dead in the drain.

Not to mention when you are a Qunari, whom the Chantry preaches, and warns against.

Arishok’s anger is perfectly understandable, any good commander worries about his charges, and such meaningless waste of a good people would have me looking for revenge, as well. But, surprising me, he stays his hand, again, and doesn’t act out against the town.

The nobility, masked in the Qun nonsense, about them all being unworthy of the enlightenment, shines through. I can see, even if he won’t admit it openly, he doesn’t really want to burn the town down, regardless of his spiteful words. People fascinate him, just a tiny bit, but enough to merit mercy. For now.

It saddens me, but if he remains for much longer, he will be forced to act. My people tell me a high Chantry official, called mother Petrice, is the one sowing discord among the people.

And Chantry’s influence over the populace has always been significant.

It was a former guard of hers, that had been responsible for the disaster with the delegates.  Regardless of her claims of innocence regarding that, her actions plainly indicate otherwise. What worries me is that she has a quiet support of Elthina.

The Grand Cleric, in spite of her kind demeanour, and in general, kindness, is quite aware of the danger Qun poses, also to the Andrastian Chantry. While she cannot bring herself to dirty her own hands, it is impossible that she is unaware of Petrice’s moves. As long as she can look the other way, however, pretend she has nothing to do with it, she will. The mother’s endeavours are all in her favour, why would she do anything else?

Which is why all the unofficial pleas of Bran’s for restraint and reason fall on deaf ears. He sends them using some of my Wings as messengers, and I get to read a few of them – the Seneschal is quite aware how badly things are going. And Elthina just burns them, without response.

The events start spiralling out of control soon enough. I go by the Chantry, regretfully abandoning my post above the Qunari compound for a short while, and listen to one of Petricia’s sermons. It is both inciting, and bigoted. I can understand the dislike, and fear, of the Qun, but the woman is just as fanatical as the Qunari. You do not attempt to douse a fire with oil. It is ridiculous, it is an escalation, and I can only see it ending badly.

It is especially hard for me to accept, since I saw the numerous attempts on the part of the Arishok to keep the situation calm. The very person whom I’d expect that from the least, has been trying and trying; while the people who preach of the love of the Maker extending towards everyone, do the exact opposite.

Viscount’s son’s death comes as a shock, and the push I feared. But the people react more to the fact that mother Petrice is killed by the Qunari as a revenge. They easily forget that the naïve, short-sighted  boy converted to the Qun, and that the Qunari were only avenging their own; all they can see is a higher Chantry official, lying dead. It causes small riots, and the boiling cauldron is starting to spill the violence it tried to contain.

I am hearing the reports in regard to these events, when one of the Wings I had set to observe the entrance to Qunari compound during my absence comes running. As he was too fearful to take my typical, highly perched position and watch the inside of it, the sole thing he can tell me is that they are marching, marching on the Viscounts keep.

I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this; in spite of the Qun, Arishok’s nobility has been one of the most beautiful things I’ve seen in this town. They spat on him, disrespected him in numerous ways, and still, he has kept his honour intact. Even though, truth to be told, the Qun would have demanded a different reaction from him, a long time ago. It is a sad thing, that I will have to, most likely, kill him. I feel a stab of regret, even as I speak firmly,

‘Let’s mosey, people. Those who can fight, with me; the rest of you, evacuate. Leave everything behind, take only valuables. Do not stop, on anyone’s, or anything’s, account. If Kirkwall burns today, I do not want any of us going up in flames with it.’

There are but a few Qunari on the streets, most of them had followed the charge, and surely, by now, taken over the keep. I focus on cleaning up the escape route for Wings; the tunnels to the Coast are surely overrun by now with other inhabitants of Darktown, and the safest way out is, ironically, aboveground. We take control over the town gates, and I leave my people there, and not skimping on magic, make my way to the Viscount Keep. Whatever happens, I want to be there, see it happen. And, if need be, intervene.

The servant entrance of the Keep remains, of course, unguarded. People tend to forget about these, so focused they are on the large, obvious doors, as if they’re the sole way inside. I sneak into the throne room, and into the crowd of gathered nobles. Estimating the situation, my eyes emotionlessly gloss over the head of the Viscount on the floor; really, not unexpected. Truthfully, a miracle that the man had kept his life for as long as he did, in an unstable city like Kirkwall.

Some idiot noble starts complaining, and ends up killed, for speaking nonsense out of turn. It is patently clear Arishok is done fucking around. I shuffle a bit closer to the walls, and shadow, trying to make my passage as concealed and unnoticeable as possible.

Arishok looks briefly in more or less my direction, obviously sensing the movement among the frozen still by the fear nobles, and I pull the rich blue hood of my cloak more deeply over my head. It makes me blend more easily with the nobility, but it would have likely been for naught, if not for the main door opening, and the man, Hawke, walking through them.

The man can make an entrance, that’s for sure. And of course, Arishok demands the Tome of Koslun, which I know little about, other than that it contains all the major teachings the Qun is built on. Like a Chant of Light, for the Qunari, sort of. It sort of explains why they’ve been searching for it so desperately, all those years, although why Arishok was tasked with it, specifically, I still do not know. It would seem a Ben’Hassrath would have been better for the position.

What makes me amazed is the fact that the demand was stated in the first place. I was quite certain Kirkwall was irredeemable, would have to go up in flames regardless of anyone’s intervention. Arishok’s actions were clear, and had a complete subjugation in mind. And yet… yet he tries, again. Why? What makes him so different, from all the other Qunari I’ve met who aren’t Tal-Vashoth, so set in the Qun ways, on the outside, and yet, rebelling against them, subconsciously, every step?

Maybe that’s what makes him so great, so perfect for the position of leadership. The fact that he sees nothing but Qun, and applies all the great characteristics of his character which Qun would deny him, for the cause. It seems to be a common thing for the most able agents and warriors of the Qun; the fact that they’re, in fact, partially rejecting it.

After all, Qun strives for mediocrity, not greatness. Greatness upsets the balance of the Qun society, because if they acknowledge it, all the bullshit about equal chances would be exposed, the fact that there's no winning against people with some natural predispositions. And true greatness comes with a strong personality, and character, needed to develop it - both of which are undesirable, under the Qun. It sees all people as servants of the system, and personal goals are detrimental to that, as are personal desires.  

I focus back on the drama, happening in front of my eyes, this time, a bit hopeful. Maybe, just maybe, it won’t end a tragedy, in the end.

I do not envy the man, Hawke, his position. His friend and trusted companion has done one of the very few right things in her life, and returned with the book the Arishok had ordered returned. But now, of course, the Qunari war-leader requires the thief to be apprehended and delivered to face justice of the Qun – and from what I know of it, it is a pitiful position to be in.

No matter his loyalty to his friend, there is only one answer for Arishok’s claim, and I see the black-haired human struggle with the knowledge, before he sags, and lets his thief be taken away. My respect for the warrior increases considerably; it takes a very strong leader to know his responsibilities – had he chosen otherwise, Kirkwall would have been bathed in blood. Mostly, innocent. Or as innocent as an average Kirkwaller is, which is not much, but it is something.

I can feel a person in front of me shift, muttering about betrayal. It is clear he is readying himself to make a fuss at Hawke’s compliance with Arishok’s demands. With a sigh, I call up on my aura, muffling the sound around me.

There are idiots, and there are suicidal idiots. This particular one will end up dragging whole city along with him, ending up the rare case of murderous idiot.

With a two soundless steps, I position myself behind him, and strike the back of his head, making him lose consciousness on the spot. It garners a few glances, him falling flat on the floor, but I fade step away, back into the shade, and then another one, taking me to the hidden servant door on the side. There’s nothing more to see here, as the Qunari ready themselves to leave.

With their primary goal achieved, the Qunari will be departing, soon. The dispatch to Par Vollen for a ship had already been sent, and the woman, Isabella, is carefully guarded by the soldiers, at all times. I contemplated freeing her, but decided the action both too perilous, and of negligible gains. I am compassionate towards her fate, alas. The risk is just too high.

I still am worried about the upcoming all-out war between Tevinter and Qunari. Having seen the Arishok in action, my worries only increased. The man is inspirational, and from my knowledge, there’s no one to hold a candle to him among the ‘Vint generals.

I come at a whim to the compound, a few days later, though there are no more questions I want answered. I had intended to observe the enlistment process itself, never having the chance before, maybe try to slip through it, if possible. Considering I am here to see, and ostensibly, join, the converts, I walk straight into the recruitment tent.

‘Ah, so the little shadow reveals herself, at last’ I hear from behind me the booming voice of the Arishok. I am astonished to see him here, in the office of his recruiters, where the prospective Viddathari gather and seek wisdom of the Qun.

I kind of regret my curiosity now, shuddering inadvertently under his evaluating gaze. But cowardice is against my innate bravado and pride, so instead of lowering my eyes, I meet his squarely, and reply,

‘Maybe I have finally decided to accept the guidance of the Qun in my life?’ I struggle to keep my voice even at the ridiculous notion, but still, the sarcasm is unsheathed, and cutting.

Shockingly, he bursts out with a heavy laugh, confronted with my audacity. It must be refreshing, for him, to meet one that does not tremble with fear in his presence, or does not follow his orders unquestioningly.

‘Follow’ Arishok commands, and with a neutral shrug, I nod.

He leads me to the more secluded part of the compound, and turns around, with a plain curiosity in his eyes, even if his face appears impassive.

‘You have been watching us, me, for a long time. Why?’

I have to admire the horned man for getting straight to the point.

‘Curiosity’ I reply with pure honesty.

And then, a crazy idea flashes in my head, and before I become afraid of it, I grab it by the tail.

‘I would propose a wager between us, Arishok.’

He is a bit confused, but also, amused. 

‘I would answer the question you had asked Hawke, a few months ago, show you of the value of the… disorganized communities. And you, on the other hand, would try and teach me of the wisdom of the Qun.’ I hold my breath, awaiting his response.

Tilting his head, Arishok wonders out loud,

‘Why would I do so?’ I can tell he is truly interested, both in the deal, and in my answer. 

‘Because it would alleviate your boredom…’ He has nothing better to do, on the way back home. ‘And because you are curious about me, too.’ The last remark hits home, and his eyes flash.

‘There’s no boredom under the Qun.’ He states firmly, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes. For me, Qun is nothing **but** boring… well, and scary, and constricting, and plain ludicrous. ‘But enlightening one as capable as you is a worthy thing to do.’

‘Very well, little shadow. We have a deal… a wager.'

You have no idea, Arishok. No idea at all what this entails.

You have no chance of convincing me of the values of Qun, because I have educated myself thoroughly regarding this philosophy, before rejecting it in its entirety.

The Qun doesn’t deserve the services, and devotion, of one such as yourself. It cannot appreciate you for the strength of your character and nobility as you truly deserve, reducing you to merely fighting prowess, and loyalty, valuing you only as far as you serve the system. And you have so much more to offer!

It is a bet I have with myself, Arishok.

I wager with myself, I can, I will, steal you away, from the Qun. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The whole Arc was inspired by zimafreak, with questions about whether Fean’Na could be Andraste. By the way, do not ask me how exactly did my mind jump from Andraste to Qunari, it was a very strange, convoluted, inexplicable really, process. But it did. And so, here we are.
> 
> This chapter in particular is decicated to Erynnsilver, who had managed to guess it right.
> 
> Yngvildr, at the time Fean’Na sets out for Kirkwall, Valeria is about 26, more or less. Eight years has passed since Satinalia I mentioned two chapters ago. Arishok mentions, at the beginning of Blackpowder Courtesy Quest, they had been in Kirkwall three years, and I assume the events of Act 2 in DA take about a year (though Bioware makes them just a few months, I think).  
> I am sorry for a lot of disappointed hopes, but no meeting between Fean’Na and the others just yet. Or at least none they are aware of. Few dialogues too, but she is spying, so really, no conversations to be had. In the next chapter, I’ll make up for it, in spades, I promise.


	26. Persuasive Pride

**Persuasive Pride**

When I return to the Wing’s hideout in Darktown, I spend close to an hour staring dumbly at the ceiling, astounded by myself. What a mad gamble it is, especially if I follow through with it, completely, and really leave Kirkwall on the Qunari ship. I am still unsure about it, to risk my **life** like that – but for now, I can put off that decision.

Instead, I have a decent sleep, and next morning, make my way back to the Qunari compound, with a clear head, and a plan. The Arishok awaits me, and raises an eyebrow, when I bid him to follow. I lead him through the one of the entrances in the Docks to the Darktown, deciding to tackle the worst part of the city first.

His face winces at the stench, and he looks positively revolted by the people and the general conditions of living there. But I have a purpose, and wade through the treacherous tunnels as frightened inhabitants scurry out of the way of a huge, horned man. Even though he has no weapon in sight. I know he left it behind, adhering to the accord made with the Kirkwall Guard, but I doubt he would need it even if someone was stupid enough to try anything.

No one with any talent to speak of remains in the Darktown for long. Unless they are here to hide from the world, of course.

The tunnels of the former mine resemble a maze, and had I not checked beforehand, I would have surely gotten lost. In the end, however, I find the right passage, leading to one of the few places where light shines through the cracks in the ceilings, and where the Crone lives.

No one knows her name, as she came to live here many years ago, having misplaced her memories, and nothing but the clothes on her back. She currently sleeps, in a gap in the wall, filled with rags and scraps, a scrunched up, shrivelled figure of an elderly woman.

What makes this place different than any other is the lush greenery, thriving here under her adept hands and care. Somehow, the old lady has managed to find and plant those that can live with barely any light, and even those not so tolerant, survive here.

The cave is beautiful. Water drops down on one side of the wall, creating a small spring of water, luminescent from some organisms within it. The moss and vines entwine the pillars, and sneak into the crevices. The small purple flowers spring from between the leaves, and white ones on the floor. The air is a bit moist, but clean and fresh with the smell of the blossoms, and Arishok takes in a deep breath.

I can see he looks around in amazement, and I smile under my nose, before saying,

‘You did not expect anything like that here, did you?’

He snorts derisively.

‘One clean spot does not make remainder of the mess excusable.’ A quick, surmising glance sent my way, ‘You are not going to argue it’s not filthy here, are you.’

‘Why would I try to deny the truth?’ I roll my eyes, before taking one final look at the small paradise here, before saying, ‘I’m here to show you light hidden in the scum of humanity. And for that, we need to hide.’

I urge him away, and behind some of the rocks, and we lie in wait. About half an hour passes, before we can hear uncertain steps resounding from the tunnel we came from.

A small body cautiously sneaks in, and I recognize the boy as one of the thieves under the local smugglers guild, Athenril’s? The Wings had… words with her a while back when she had supported some of the local slavers. We reached an understanding, and fortunately, she stopped before it came to blows. Not to mention, the business was becoming risky ever since both us, and Hawke with his team started making short work of the slavers and those affiliated with them.

The child could use some training, as he fails to realize our presence, and more assuredly, enters the cave. Glancing quickly at Crone, he sets down a bowl filled with various foods, before shyly approaching one of the patches of flowers on the ground. He takes his time, before picking one of the blossoms, and running out, near soundlessly.

‘They do it every single day, without fail.’ I say softly, and the Arishok turns to look at me, instead of the departing thief. ‘Someone will come and leave food for her… in exchange for a flower. She is a light of Darktown – people here are thieves, murderers and beggars, barely scraping by to fill their own bellies, and yet, her bowl always gets refilled. Always cared for.’

It was a miracle, and I couldn’t believe it when I first heard about it, until I saw it with my own eyes. Inexplicable, but they are proud of her, and come and watch her play in the little garden she created in these poisonous caves, a small oasis of vegetation and flourish among the infertile ground and rock. They are proud and care for her, regardless of how low their lives brought them. The lowest of the low, and still compassion and concern can be found in them; truly, the saying that some good is hidden in each and every one of us, stands true.  

‘A few years back, a noble from Hightown heard rumours about her, and decided to hire the talented gardener on his estate. His guards came, and took her, against her will, screaming and wailing. She was returned after a few months, beaten up and malnourished.’ I can see his questioning look, and explain further, ‘It is not only her memories that are missing, but also, her wits. She is not fully… there. The noble tried to force her compliance, believing her defiant, instead of deranged.’

I fall silent, confronted with yet another example of senseless cruelty, before sighing heavily and returning to the story.

‘The citizens of Darktown took offence at such treatment of her, and decided to teach the people uptown a lesson. By the end of the year, the man had been robbed blind of nearly everything in his home, his servants left him, and most business deals fell through. When the last of his cutlery and embroidered sheets disappeared, he sold the estate, and moved, to Wycome; or at least that’s where the rumours place him.’

I look at him, and from the gleam in his eyes, see that I need not add anything more. Loyalty and support of the community are things valued in the Qun, especially to the system, but in general, too.

We stay for a while longer, observing the Crone as she wakes up, and begins tending to her plants, with a grunt like noises. More animalistic than human, but with some effort, one can recognize a semblance to words in her monologue.

Nodding in the Crone’s direction, the Arishok says,

‘No one would be left alone and abandoned like that on Par Vollen. She would have been found a place to stay, and a task suitable to fulfil her role within her society.’

I take a moment to think on his words, before pointing out,

‘So you would take away her flowers, because they are not what the Qun perceives as a necessity.’

I am saddened by this possibility, unable to imagine the Crone without her plants. Stuck in a work camp, cutting ingredients, or some other, mindless yet necessary basic task, which would make her useful. It would be such a waste, in comparison to what her presence brings now; hope and motivation for others.

Fortunately, the Qun doesn't decide her fate, for now. 

‘But let us leave that aside, for the moment, and concentrate on another thing – what if she wasn’t found anything suitable to do?’

‘Everyone has to contribute to the society. Something would be found for her.’ He states firmly, crossing his arms in stubbornness.

‘And if not? What if she is incapable of following any instructions?’ I turn to face him, grimacing. ‘No, don’t answer that – I know what happens with people considered… useless to the Qun.’

They’re disposed of.

‘Just think, for a moment, on the fact that your Qun would consider a woman like her, capable of creating such beauty, and warming the hearts of people in Darktown, as… worthless.’

He wants to protest my words, but they die on his lips, as he casts another look on the animal-like manner with which she behaves, and moves. She would be put down like a wild animal, I know this for sure.

Not that she is far from being one, but… That doesn’t change the fact that here, in these underground caves full of outcasts of humanity, she can live, and more, she is considered important. Crucial, really. And loved, in a way.

I leave him to his thoughts, taking out a little thing I prepared for the visit, a sweet, chewy cake I picked up in a bakery this morning. I sneak into the cave and place it by the bowl of food, before glancing fondly at the Crone, and going back.

As we walk away, he asks with a touch of smirk,

‘You aren’t taking a flower?’

‘She was kind enough to provide a lesson with her mere existence. I think that’s plenty.’ I reply evenly, leading us back to the surface. He winces at the jab, ever so slightly, before pointing out as we reach the Docks,

‘You are aware that your Crone is an exception to the rule. Most people like her die, one way or another, and not get protected, like that. Not much of a difference from the Qun, in practice.’

I sigh, nodding. True, most of people with diseases rending them incapable of normal interactions do not survive, in Thedas. Yet, some are under the care of their families, some taken in by the Chantry, and some are subject to small miracles within the communities. Like the Crone.

‘But there are exceptions, which your Qun does not allow. It would judge all like her, unfavourably, and condemn them. And some of them have potential to lead others to greatness, or achieve it themselves.’

We part on this note, and I know, I got him thinking. Not convinced, not by a long shot, especially since those are fringe elements, people he will surely explain before himself as necessary sacrifices for the general good of the remainder of the population. But I planted some doubt there, and I feel like giving myself a pat on the back for a job well done.

A few days later, after giving him some time to mull over it all, I take Arishok for another walk. This time, it is a visit to Lowtown.

It is a much more pleasant neighbourhood, compared to the Darktown, but the chaotic layout and the rush on the streets seem to annoy him, nonetheless. The looks people send our way are far from welcoming, some downright hostile, even though none have the courage to brave him head on. I’m not surprised – while the city did not burn, there were losses, and there was fear. None of which are easily forgotten.

As we walk, and I point to various stalls where the families work together, noting on the bonds between them, how they interact. He watches it with a furrowed brow, plainly uneasy and without understanding, as under the Qun, there are no families. Children are given up immediately after birth under the care of Tamassran, caretakers, and the parents are chosen and breed based on their traits, complimenting each other.

It is as hard for me to comprehend, this unfeeling system of cultivating people like prized animals. For him, it is unthinkable it could be otherwise.

‘Under the Qun there are no orphans.’ He says, bringing my attention to the darker side of our concepts – that after having no one, children are left on their own.

‘It is a trade-off’ I admit, remembering some of the youngest beggars of the Darktown. ‘The teachings of all religions try to combat it by praising the support of them, of course, and the orphans are always welcome at the Chantry.’

‘Still. The system allows them to rot away on the streets.’ He says, and I shrug, as there’s no denying the truth of his words. Personally, I believe that much more is gained from the closeness of the family ties, than there’s lost for those that do not such support. But that is an issue of evaluation, which is really hard to debate, as we all perceive things differently.

After a moment of silence after the last statement, he concedes with some reluctance that the most common cause for Qunari abandoning the Qun and becoming Tal-Vashoth, aside from the inability to control themselves, is a wish to remain as a family with their loved ones. Even if he hasn’t ever understood this desire, himself, it undeniably exists.

Unspoken, but hanging in the air is the fact they rarely succeed in breaking out from the bonds of the system. More often, they are captured, and sent to the re-education camps. I shudder at the thought of how one could be re-educated of the wishes for family.

It is not that the Qun forbids the closeness, itself. It just doesn’t approve of it affecting the performance of anyone, and that means lovers getting separated par the course of their duties, regularly. Any stability is an illusion, and as the instinctive wish of the parents is to care for the children more than the said duties, Qun believes it inefficient. So… It tries to artificially improve on the course of nature.

I am suddenly reminded of the Fen’s words from ages ago, and for me, over two centuries – that he himself had tried to improve on Creators’ ideas. His words of failure ring clearly in my head, since even if the six-eyed wolf is impressive, the two additional pairs of eyes bring no further advantages.

Some things are created the way they are for a reason.

Surprisingly, the Arishok takes charge at some point, and leads me to the Alienage. I dislike this part of town, dislike the reminder how low the Elvhen had fallen, but I just purse my lips and face the sight.

And it is a poor view to witness, Sylaise’s tree the only greenery around, and looking at the crammed up buildings, I can’t help thinking the Crone lives in better conditions than them. Underground. This couldn’t be any further from Arlathan if they tried, unless they replaced the buildings with mud huts. I shake my head, as always astounded how the elves let themselves be treated thus.

He says that in the Qun, such race-based prejudices have no place, that everyone is judged based on their devotion and perseverance in their service. Shouldn’t I wish for this to happen, for my people to have better future than this?’

 ‘The prejudices are a result of years of ingrained behaviours, of jealousy ages back taking on the worst form, after the humanity had finally taken the elves to their knees. But. The Elvhen had made their fate with their own hands.’ I reply harshly, scowling. ‘The loss was of their own making.’

I look over the Alienage once again, before shaking my head and saying,

‘Let us be gone from this place.’

I am quiet on our return to the compound, and so is he, until I nod my goodbye to him.

Twice. The Elvhen had their chance twice already, and they, we, lost it, both times.

I’ll not lift a finger for my people again until Fen wakes, and decides what to do. My attempts had, after all, only worsened the overall situation, for all involved. I should concentrate on things I know how to deal with.

And try and steal an Arishok. Which I am not quite so certain how to do, but I’ll try, nonetheless, and appreciate the challenge.

In the evening, I walk through the Hightown, lost in thought, trying to decide which part of it would further drive the point I’m trying to convey to the Arishok. Both Darktown and Lowtown were easy, the first one showing the value of choice how to live, of life itself in a way, and the second, of family. Both denied by the Qun.

But in Hightown, people are living a life of plenty, and pervasive greed, and squandering, would be, are, hard to accept for him. The poor naturally reach out to his compassion, and while he remains convinced they would be better off under the Qun, he is naturally sympathetic, and doesn’t blame them for the circumstances their lives placed them in.

It is different with the rich and nobles, who just anger him.

This will be the tricky bit. Especially since I do not disagree with him, and his perception of them as fat swines, feeding on the misery of others. As a general rule, he is not far off, unfortunately.

I remain so focused on trying to figure it out, I fail to realize someone has been following me, until I turn into a side alley near the Blooming Rose, and a rough hand covers my mouth. The male pulls me to the shadowed break between the buildings, and I curse my inattentiveness vehemently.

Sloppy, dear me, very sloppy.

I’m lucky he hadn’t begun with a knife between my ribs, judging me by my frailty and head in the clouds. I snap back into attention, and twist my body out of his hands, stomping on his foot strongly to make him lose the grasp on me. With a swift, magically enhanced motion, I turn around, and kick him in the groin. As he shrinks from the burst of pain, another, this time magically enhanced kick in the head sends him out on the main street and under the feet of the passing patrol.

Walking out and stretching, I wonder dispassionately whether I have killed him. I also wonder if I haven’t overdone it, as anyone with two eyes could discern that such distance travelled by a man of his build from a blow of someone of my posture couldn’t be natural.

Fortunately, no one is interested in it, as the man turns out to be a well-known criminal. The two guards check for the signs of life, and inform me I haven’t, in fact, slain him.

Pity.

Even more so when one of them says,

 ‘I am sorry, miss, but you will have to come with us. We’ve wanted to nail the man for a long time, but he had protection. Your account will help us a great deal.’

I appreciate that he’s not sugar-coating it – they need my help, but any refusal is not an option. With a resigned sigh, I follow after the armed people, who drag the unconscious man with them.

I haven’t been to the Viscount’s Keep for a while, ever since that memorable night when the Viscount was killed. I find it surprising how… calm it appears, in spite of the glaring hole in the fabric of top administration. Seneschal and Guard Captain keep everything between them tightly under control, and until the new person is chosen for the position, they will hold the city together.

Still, some uneasiness can be felt. It is in the way nobles automatically head for the main office, only to realize it is empty, and turn to the left, entering Bran’s rooms. It is heard in the whispers of the servants, observant as usual, but atypically agitated. It is made plain by the double-amounts of guards, patrolling the city, and their visible exhaustion from the constant, heavy duty. This tension will remain, as long as there’s no leader.

I know people are already speaking of Hawke becoming a Viscount. He has proven himself, again, and again, as well as his capabilities.

However, I think he would be a poor choice. He is known to the people as a person shielding apostates within the city, right under Templar’s noses, as well as for having his sister in the circle. It will make Meredith his enemy, and the mages more hopeful. It will only further escalate the conflict.

I do not like the way mages here are going about preserving their rights. They’re doing it in a sort of, half-assed, if I’m honest, manner. Little tricks to show off their disapproval, here and there, which only further incite the Knight-Captain of the Order, without achieving much of anything. If they are going to rebel, they shouldn’t warn her. If they’re not, then what is the point of all that?

They could go about it both ways, as far as I’m concerned. Either a major break-out, and relocation of all the circle members to Tevinter – in spite of the Templar claims of being capable of subduing them all, if the circle unified, and surprised them, it is a perfectly viable option. Or, going through the legitimate channels, appeal to the heads of Templar Order, to the Divine herself – or, more experimentally, to the Seekers.

Personally, I would choose the Seekers, an organisation which contains both the best members of the Templar Order – the most flexible, able minds – but also, in a way, outcasts among the Knights. Because their main mission is to root out the unrest from within the Order, quell all the fallen Templars, and that makes all the others scared.

The heads of the Order are unlikely to consider the mages’ complaints, and undermine one of their own. But, they could surprise me – such thing happened in the history of the Templar Order. Once. As far as I know, of course. Which could very well be inaccurate – it wouldn’t be much of shock if they held such things hidden from the public.

But there is a **known** precedent to follow.  

Going to Divine Justinia would also be a thing worth considering. From what I’ve learned her, she seems to be quite decent person, she inspires people to loyalty and devotion. Which is what Divine is supposed to be about, really, so a person well-chosen for the task. She is a tad too unrealistic, searching for utopia with her ideas, but the best leaders are all like that.

Why, my Wings are also chasing after a dream. Not that I could claim to be one of the best leaders, by any stretch of imagination, but, at the very least, our goal is suitably lofty and unattainable.

All these thoughts flitter away, once I realize we are standing in front of the Guard Captains office. I’m invited inside, and report concisely, what happened, to the redheaded female. The legendary Aveline Valen, who held the city together during the crisis.

‘Thank you.’ She nods, looking at me sharply, and I bristle internally. ‘You have been seen accompanying the Arishok, as of recent.’

There’s an implied question here, which I decide to ignore, tilting my head slightly, and emotionlessly returning her gaze. After a short while of staring contest, with a resigned shake of her head, she continues,

‘I would advise caution. People are… displeased by the Qunari presence in town, and eager to see them gone. A blatant display of their presence only incites them further.’

‘It is your job to ensure they do not suffer for their stupidity’ I reply indifferently. Her eyes narrow, and lips purse in displeasure, but we are interrupted by a decisive knock on the door, which open immediately afterwards, to the black-haired, smiling man with a two-handed sword on his back.

‘Hawke.’ Aveline grumbles. ‘A polite thing would be to wait for a permission to enter.’

‘Good thing I have never been polite.’ He smirks mischievously. ‘I would have experienced a whole lot of waiting. Can you imagine? Knock knock, dear slavers, Hawke here to kill you, please, allow me to come in?’

‘Very funny, Hawke.’ She snorts irritably. ‘I see what you did there – and I refuse to be likened to these kinds of scum.’

His smile only widens at her annoyance.

‘True, you are much prettier.’

‘Hawke!’

I fight the urge to roll my eyes at the display – this is the possible, future Viscount of Kirkwall? Really? Creators, preserve this city, because it will need all the help it can get.

‘If that is all, captain.’ I drawl out, heading for the door without waiting for the response, but Avelive still replies,

‘Yes, thank you again for your cooperation.’

As if there was any choice.

I am stopped by the entrance by Hawke’s apostate, who catches me by the arm and pierces me with evaluating gaze, just as I am about to leave.

‘What are you?’ His pleasant voice is full of marvel, but also, wariness.

‘An acquaintance of yours, Anders?’ Asks Hawke, turning in our direction.

I can feel all the people looking at me, and am decidedly uneasy – especially since the Ghost is appraising me, as well. I didn’t even see him behind the apostate, but he also enters, as I jerk my arm away from the blonde man’s grip.

‘I haven’t met her before but Justice is… agitated, and interested.’

I feel quite thrown by the situation, before his words permeate my consciousness. Justice?

‘You wouldn’t happen to mean a Spirit of Justice, now, would you?’ I ask without much hope in my voice. All of the humans in the office still, and their eyes widen in shock, as I sigh with resignation.

Of course, I had to guess it right.

The people in the room shuffle to unobtrusively reach to their weapons, while a strange, blue glow envelops the man, and his eyes begin shining with a glossy light. A deep, otherworldly voice says,

‘You are Pride. I had heard of you, from others. What an honour, to meet you in this city.’

I feel a sense of dread at his words – others? What could this possibly mean? Still, I shake my head, stating calmly,

‘I am leaving it, soon.’ I glare at the Ghost who visibly keeps his hand at his sword. Really, escalating the issue is not a good idea. Slightly apologetic, he lets it fall to his side, even if his fingers twitch nervously when Justice begins speaking again.

‘You could fight for our cause, with us, for Justice! There’s so much more we could achieve, with you, by our side!’

I stop his rant, before the spirit can excite himself even further,

‘Justice. Your cause and mine differ, as do our perceptions.’ I take a deep breath, and deliver the warning I believe he needs to hear, ‘I think you made a mistake, Spirit. You are balancing on a very fine line between your existence, and demonic one – take care not to cross it. You took a shortcut by possessing a body, instead of creating one, like others did before you, and that shortcut will cost you.’

He visibly slumps, disheartened by both my denial, and admonishment.

‘I couldn’t watch these things happen anymore without taking action.’

‘Most of the worst tragedies begin with best intentions of those believing that their cause justifies the means’ I reply coldly, waving away his excuse.

He begins glowing again, letting go of the hold he has on mage’s body, and I turn to the others in the captains office.

‘A word of advice for you, Hawke – be careful with them. One body is not meant for hosting two souls – it is why all the demons eventually consume their hosts. It is that, or being consumed themselves.’ I shake my head in blatant disapproval. ‘They will begin losing grasp on reality, the longer they remain joined in such unnatural union.’

Without allowing them any further comments, I march out, closing the door behind me, and breathing in, deeply. From behind it, I hear the Ghost speak,

‘I had warned you of the abomination. Maybe now you will finally listen.’ A deep, frustrated sigh, before he murmurs, ‘I would swear I have met her somewhere, before.’

Swiftly, I push myself away from the door, and walk out of the guards section of the keep. I do not wish anymore confrontations between me and those people.

Finally exiting the Viscount Keep after the somewhat nerve wrecking situation, I laugh out loud, garnering a few surprised looks from the bystanders. One positive thing resulting from it - I found an answer to my doubts regarding Hightown. Obviously, the one of value here is Hawke himself. The Arishok admitted that before, and thus, I have no need of going over this again.

I say so next time we meet in the compound, a few days later – after I have gone through some of the reports from Valeria, and replied with my own suggestions.

It seems she is managing on her own just fine, in regards to general affairs, at the very least. She still requires my guidance when it comes to more strategic decisions, but I suspect this will come with time, when she gains in experience and knowledge of people’s behaviours and motivations.

Arishok ponders on my cheerful words regarding Hawke for a while, before stating,

‘You have convinced me that **not** burning the city to the ground wasn’t such a wrong choice. But I remain firm, way of the Qun is superior to this… chaos.’

I smile mischievously, replying sweetly,

‘Ah, but I’ve only just begun.’

‘So. You are planning on coming along?’

‘To Rivain, yes. That’s where your next stop is, before sailing to Par Vollen, right?’ I confirm with him before the final commitment.

‘Correct.’ The Arishok falls deep in thoughts, before saying, ‘Some will be displeased by your presence, say that you are with us to steal our secrets.’

‘What secrets can I steal?’ I roll my eyes in exasperation. ‘The plans of your dreadnoughts? The ‘Vints have had them for a long time. They lack the technology and will to build them, more comfortable with relying on their wind sailing, partially magically powered vessels. There’s nothing on your ship that I could steal… aside from the Tome of Koslun, possibly, but why would I do that away from the shore is beyond me.’

‘You’ve got a point.’ He smirks, and it relaxes some of the firm lines on his face. ‘And I’ve never said I was one of them.’

I redden a bit, realizing I have lectured without having a need to do so. Seeing me flustered, he laughs, a deep rumble coming from his belly, a rich, full sound.

I look at him, and my heart skips a beat. He is so attractive, all relaxed and loosened up, all the while, still strong and powerful and… magnificent. A mesmerizing sight.

And suddenly, I realize, I am so fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry for the recent lack of updates, but I have been caught by RL, and it wasn’t particularly pleasant encounter, for either of us. As well as a terrible lack of inspiration for this chapter, even though I had it planned, it just… didn’t write. With the upcoming Christmas, I can’t promise any more regularity, as I’ll have to help my parents in setting it all up, and then I’m preparing for New Years, all the while working between 28 and 31. So. Not a fun time, for me. 
> 
> I am making a lot of assumptions here about the Qun. There’s nothing quite like it on Earth, though it does resemble communistic philosophy very much, with some… Tweaks. The selective breeding, dissolution of the family units and the lack of emotional approach (numbers instead of names) to children obviously hasn’t been done anywhere, so I can only speculate how it would work.  
> Considering that throughout the pretty long history of Earth no civilization has ever tried that, (or if it did we haven't heard of it succeeding) I can only assume it wouldn’t, not without losing something of vital importance in the process. 
> 
> The part with old lady was inspired by the idea which appeared in Soviet Union (do not remember when, precisely), that all of the elderly should be killed off once they reach the end of their usefulness. Never implemented, or even really under discussion, but it was there.
> 
> So I’m here assuming that Qun is much more extreme. Not too far-fetched, considering how far they go with the interference in the personal lives of their people.


	27. Audacious Pride

**Audacious Pride**

I am mortified with myself. Really, to behave like a lustful teenager, simply because I had managed to get him unwounded, is shameful. I blame the lack of lover for the past forty years for that.

Even though a nasty voice in the back of my head reminds me, it hadn’t really affected me when I was continuously rebuffing Riv.

Regardless, self-depreciation helps me in getting myself back under control, and I appear nearly unruffled when I say my respectful farewells to Arishok for the day.

After a hasty return, back at the Wings hideout, in privacy, I groan, vexed and dismayed.

In hindsight, it appears blatantly obvious, as I have always appreciated strong personalities, with leadership qualities. Knowing Ebareth, and seeing his relationship with Esme, **civilized** Qunari for me, sort of. I hadn’t believed such match could be possible, before, but the two of them proved me wrong.

Now, I curse it morosely, and my curiosity, which made me evaluate him so accurately. I can see how he resembles Fen, somewhat, from before he had grown beyond a wolf. They’re alike in many aspects, both curious, intelligent, powerful. Magnificent. And yet different enough, it makes me relish the challenge, and, if I have to admit, giddy in anticipation.

The reasonable part of me – though any claim to reason on my part seems laughable - warns me against the notion. Arishok is deeply ingrained in his values, and even if I disregard that… he is mortal.

And not Fen, regardless of how my fascination focuses on the similarities, rather than disparities.

This is such a bad idea, even worse now than ever before. But I had said that I would come, and I’ve never broken my word during my life, ever. So I have to follow through, regardless of my sudden misgivings.

I have but a few more days to come to terms with my newfound awareness of him, before we are stuck together in a limited space of warship.

The warning from captain Valen rings in my ears as we walk the town, but it seems she also took my words seriously, because we are constantly shadowed by armed guards. The Arishok thinks it funny, and his mouth quiver slightly from hidden mirth. I am quietly grateful for their presence, preventing any incidents from happening. I didn’t **think** anyone would be actually stupid enough to try anything, but additional security certainly doesn’t hurt.

The ship arrives far too soon for my liking. It’s not the usual, bulky dreadnought but a smaller and less eye-catching caravel, similar to the more typical vessels on these waters. Apparently, it’s a refurbished trophy. The Arishok explains that they do not wish to attract pirate attention until we reach the Qunari outpost in Rivain. There, a proper escort will gather, to brave Northern Passage of the Boeric Ocean, as the Tevinter patrols and allied pirates attempt to keep the control over it – rather fruitlessly, considering that when they wish so, Qunari break through the blockage easily.

As a result of this choice of transportation, however, some of his men will have to remain behind, and find their way by a land route, to be picked up at a later date. Only fifty of the Arishok’s people board the ship. And the prisoner. And me.

I am glad to be leaving Kirkwall, even in a grumpy company. The city, in spite of my convincing Arishok of its worth, is far from my favourite place to reside in; atmosphere thick with schemes and tension easily comparable to Minrathous- quite an achievement, considering that Tevinter capital is at least thrice Kirkwall size - but with none of its charm to recommend it.

The Arishok was not exaggerating, and most of the Qunari aboard are uncomfortable in my presence, even if only few dare to directly state their displeasure, reluctant to incur the wrath of their superior.

Who happens to be the one to let me in.

Especially unhappy are the two Ben’Hassrath on board, second and third in command respectively, both observing my every step warily and with suspicion. It is an unsettling feeling, to always have watchful eyes on my person, but I do my best to make do, and pretend indifference. It was my choice to tag along, after all, and it wouldn’t do to show weakness in front of these people. I would lose all my standing in a mere moments, and **then** the situation would turn really dangerous.

Or more than it already is, I muse thoughtfully.

I learn to take wicked pleasure from throwing the Qunari off their game with my behaviour. They never know what to expect of me, and I talk to them regardless of the fact I’m met with cold silence, commenting on little things.

On the third day, I point out that one of the sailors is nursing a strain which could well turn dangerous if left unattended. When I’m, as usual, stiffly ignored, I go on to badger Arishok until something is done about it. The man in question proceeds to glare at me for the next few days, but the ice is broken, and the soldiers stop pretending I am an irksome fly sent from gods-know-where to annoy them. Instead, they finally begin responding to my quips and jabs, and I count it as a major success when I see a slight tilt to the lips of their typically stony faces.

The Arishok observes me and my… taming of his people with sardonically raised eyebrow. Smirking, I reassure him that regardless of my interest in them he has nothing to worry about, remaining my top priority. He snorts, but I catch a flash of satisfaction, before he turns his gaze away.

Could it be…?

We continue our talks of the cultural differences, trying to prove the other wrong. Fourth day after our departure from Kirkwall, the conversation turns to Isabela, who remains quiet, and confined, in the ship’s hold.

‘What do you see, when you look at her?’ I ask casually, glancing at the brown-skinned, beautiful female sitting on the floor.

The bars of the cage partially obscure her from view, and I have to stifle a snort as I look at them. Really, they are part exaggeration, part false security – the lock on the doors remains a typical type, and I have no doubts she could pick it in few minutes.

I must admit, I am somewhat jealous of her perfect curves, standing next to her my own lacklustre figure is further emphasized. Though I am far more astonished than envious; apparently, the woman is a skilled duellist, even with a body like that. Quite a feat that she can move with enough fluidity to compensate for lack of slimness. I know that my light weight and skinniness are both invaluable assets, augmenting my speed and grace.

I would like to face off against her, one day. While I believe she wouldn’t come close to defeating me had I used magic, it could be an interesting duel, had I refrained from using it.  

‘A cowardly rat who overstepped her bounds and tried to be a fox.’ The Arishok cuts into my musings after a moment, eyeing the woman, who sticks her tongue out in his direction, but otherwise, keeps herself in check. My eyes narrow at the out of character for her, as far as I know, restraint, and I come up closer to the bars, and look her in the eyes. Thief looks right back, and I can discern an iron will, and a patience of a cat waiting to pounce. This is not a broken up creature, like Arishok thinks, not the face, nor expression of a person willing to submit to her fate without a fight. I smirk under my nose, and say,

‘I believe you are severely underestimating our foxy fox, here. I see a lot of pride in this one.’

He shrugs neutrally, letting me know that while he doesn’t agree, he will let me have the last word. At least in this issue. I smile more widely, suggesting, as we walk away from the cage and up the deck,

‘Let’s have a wager, regarding her, Arishok.’

‘Another one?’

‘This one will get settled quickly.’ I assure him convincingly.

He tilts his head, prompting me on.

‘I wager in spite of your best security, the woman will get out in under a week, and attempt to steal the tome again.’

‘Prepare to lose, Basalit-an.’ He smirks, and I bat my eyelashes innocently, trying to cover for the sudden heat in the tips of my ears.

Being called a friend – if my sketchy knowledge of Quanlat is not misguiding me - rises a flutter of butterflies in my stomach, and I have to fight down a sudden flush of pleasure. It is a decisive progress, even if I have yet to succeed in my ambitions. Still, steadily, seeds of doubt are starting to sprout, with each new issue discussed.

In spite of my good-natured warning, the Arishok doesn’t really change anything in regards to the watches observing Isabela, and merely opts to watch over the Tome of Koslun more closely. I do not have a valid excuse to back out of the situation, and if he is stuck guarding the damned book, then I’m stuck with him. It means a lot of time in an enclosed, small space of the quarters with him,  and isn’t helping my libido at all. Or nerves. I feel the rush of blood in my ears, and the quickened pulse in my veins.

It does help in learning to ignore it, however. It has been ages since I’ve been drawn to anyone, and I had forgotten the irritation of the constant pull, and the moments of dizziness it brings. It wouldn’t do to be caught staring, especially since I do not want to make our original bet revolve around lust. I wish to genuinely convince him, and not simply… seduce him.

Not that I am certain I could, even if I tried.

I’m uncertain whether I would like to try.

For some reason, my arguments lose in coherency and I begin to ramble, at times. During the short breaks, when I go to the mess-room, I scold myself for it thoroughly. My original purpose was to get him away from the Qun, not for me to indulge in vibrant fantasies.

The fact that he doesn’t take advantage of it brightens my mood, a bit, convincing me he cannot be as impervious to our proximity as he pretends. And then I scowl, realizing that I’m losing track of my goal. Again.

Fortunately for my heart, Isabela is kind enough – or impatient enough – to not prolong my stress for overly long, and attempts her grand escape on the third night. I hear a tell-tale, almost noiseless click of the door being opened, and I vault off my post on the crow’s nest, where I have been keeping watch in the dark. Soundlessly, I land on the deck, all the while thinking with a touch of pity – you could have escaped, pretty brown fox. But you have overestimated yourself, in this.

She is shocked to find a large, burly figure behind her as she fiddles with the lock on the chest containing the Tome, but she manages to slip away from Arishok before he catches her. This is where I come in, as usual using surprise at my sudden appearance to my favour, and with a few swift moves, disarm her and pin against the wall.

A string of curses questioning my ancestry, wits and conduct flies from her mouth. With slight irony I comment that she appears to not like me over much.

‘Ya think?’ She grunts out, her voice suddenly heavy with sailor accent.

Of course, as I hold her squirming body, she has very good reasons not to.

I promise to myself that should I fail in my grand plan, I’ll do my best to ensure that at the very least, she gets another shot at freedom.

Of course, my own life will be in question, so, the promise holds little value. But I feel a little better for it, as the guards rush from the outside, called by the noise, and take her off my hands.

In the morning, we investigate how she had escaped, and find that she had managed to create a sleeping powder of sorts from the herbs provided to her during the meals, and used that to deal with the guards. Quite ingenious. I wasn’t aware this combination could be used in such manner.

‘Strange, that you did not help her. Considering your beliefs…’ Arishok's eyes narrow while he scrutinizes me with puzzlement. I smile enigmatically, refusing to divulge my intentions of freeing her before the end of this trip. There’s a thing called too much honesty. Still, I can see I hadn’t fooled him, not really.

But he doesn’t push, scowling instead, and stating,  

 ‘I just lost a bet, but know this, I am not planning on losing the second one.’

‘We shall see.’ I murmur to myself, before saying out loud, ‘I rarely lose, Arishok.’

I thought this would be the end of it, but once the two Ben’Hassrath depart after their reports, he asks, frowning,

‘We haven’t set on a boon, but if we did, what would have been yours?’

It is an unexpected question, and I ponder on it, wondering just how far I can push the boundaries.

‘I would have asked for a stop in Antiva City, during the voyage. You?’

‘I have lost, so my prize matters little.’ He dodges with a tone of finality, closing the issue. I sigh regretfully, but truth to be told, I hadn’t expected an answer in the first place.

I am both astounded, and a little touched, when we dock in Antiva City two days after this conversation. He hadn’t said a word, but smiles a little at my elation at the familiar sight of the large port town. Here we are, and in the middle of Satinalia too, the best period to visit Antiva in the first place.

Aside from the supply officers, the Qunari remain contained on the ship in order to avoid causing any diplomatic incidents. Looking at them, the vague idea which prompted me to come here clarifies. I jog as the ship slows by the pier, and jump down onto the wooden planks with a slight thud, unwilling to wait for the gangplank to be raised. The sun is indicating late afternoon behind my back, and I do not have much time to arrange things.

I go to the Wings’ local quarters, located near the entrance to the town center, but still near the port. We are treating Antiva mainly as a relocation route, and a central for our merchant contracts, but aside from the occasional contact with the Crows, there’s little of interest for us here. So I am quite surprised to see Nervlis. Usually, no one of the higher leadership is sent here, aside from the minor errands, and this time, it was Ryanth’s turn, and not now, but in a few months, to drop by.

‘Quicksilver’ he raises from his seat, and performs the formal bow which has me snapping my mouth shut angrily. Really, they could stop with the kneeling, at the very least! ‘I thought you in Kirkwall.’

‘You are behind on the news, my friend’ I reply airily, proceeding to the private office, and away from the inquisitive looks of the lower-ranking members. He follows, as I knew he would, and closes the door behind him as I twirl around to face him.

‘I need you to arrange me a meeting with the Crows’ Master, or his second. Pronto. Preferably, a minute ago.’

‘You don’t ask for much, do you?’ He mutters with cynicism, but lowers his head in acknowledgement, and energetically exits the room.

I look through the reports lying on the desk in the wait, and write a few words of reassurance to Valeria. She must have gotten my report from Kirkwall by now, announcing my intentions of travelling to Rivain, and I suspect I’ll receive a few pointed remarks full of reproof at my careless while handling of my own life.

Not that these are entirely unwarranted, I’ll grant her that much, but, nonetheless, sometimes I wonder who is the parental figure in our relationship. Ever since my decision to involve myself in Kirkwall, it has been very much in reverse to the usual, as she has swamped me with letters full of worry and advices. Typically, I’m the one to bite my nails and wait for her safe return from the missions. I find it I quite like the change. Maybe now that she has experienced it herself, she will be more prompt with her reporting back.

The reports explain Nervlis’ presence here, a renegotiation of our contract with the Merchant Guild. I keep my curiosity in check as to what the new arrangement entails – I have left Wings’ to Valeria with belief she is capable of handling them. Constantly looking over her shoulder and interfering in the issues she hasn’t asked advice for puts this trust in question. It would give grounds for others to question her authority, and it would also undermine her confidence.

Nervlis succeeds, as I expected he would, and I arrange with the Crows the free passage for my Qunari companions into the city. Normally, such large contingent would require days of negotiations to receive permissions from the city council. But the backdoor I use, in exchange for a small favour for the Crows, is much swifter and, truth to be told, better, deal. Really, anything of import has to, one way or another, pass the organization’s scrutiny, in this country.

There are days when I am green with envy at their position in the court and reality of Antiva, even if Wings’ information network is much more complete. But the Crows are a major player in the politics of Thedas, while we are only beginners at the game, mostly unrecognized, and underappreciated.

However, it does also play in our favour, at times, not only in detriment – we are often underestimated.    

I take the news back to the Arishok, who looks at me in a new light, and I can hear the question at the tip of his tongue – who are you, really, little Shadow? But he holds it back, and instead organizes shifts for all of his people to enjoy some time in the city all the while ensuring the ship is properly attended at all times.

I’m glad he didn’t ask, for I wasn’t certain what answer I would have given.

At sundown, the Satinalia are in full swing. It is the third day of the weekly festival, here, and people have been sleeping in their homes after the previous night’s celebrations, but now, they all begin swarming the streets, refreshed and ready to continue partying. I allow my Qunari companions to freely explore, their eyes wide open in awe of the colourful and loud mass of people. The alcohol flows in rivers, and the feasting is abound.

The dancing had only just begun on the main square, but the crowd is thick and rainbow-like, masked and anonymous and unrestrained. One by one, the soldiers find the things that tickle their fancy, or interest, until only the two of us remain. Arishok rises his eyebrow suggestively, as if asking, what now?

There’s far too much noise to talk freely, and boldly, I take his hand instead of speaking, and lead him away from the town center, and upwards, a few flights of stairs. I use the servant entrance to the barracks, and we climb together the old, unused lookout tower. It had been the first one built, but ever since the city has grown, it became obsolete. No one bothered with demolishing it, however, as new ones were rose up, near the current walls.

It has a great view, a secret I was shown by the Crows’ Master Mattern, when he attempted wooing me. He had failed, but the things he had shown me of Antiva stayed as pleasant memories with me. Fortunately, he had treated it more as a game than seriously, and my refusal had in no way affected our professional relationship.

‘Look below. This is uncontrolled chaos at its best, the Satinalia are not organized, or controlled, by authorities in any way. And yet, this is one of the greatest festivals’ I motion in the direction of the colourful mass of people, moving in many directions, laughing and drinking and celebrating. My feet are itching to join the dancers – while the music is simple and unsophisticated, as are the dances, I like partaking in them. Alas. Not this year.

We wound up in a tavern, where I try show restraint, while Arishok has no such inhibitions. By the end of the night, I know two things for certain – one, that I’ll never, ever try to outdrink a Qunari. They have heavy heads and great metabolism, I’ve drunk a fourth of his portions and am feeling woozy, while he seems ready to continue.

Two, that the attraction I feel is mutual.

As he gets more and more drunk, his reserve waivers, as does his impassivity, and while he never says so outright, I catch him looking in this unmistakeable way that sends shivers running up my spine.

Creators.

Regardless of many Qunari nursing their hangovers, we depart the following day, promptly.

Somehow, things shift after the Antivan Satinalia, and during our usual arguments, he speaks less, and considers my words more closely than before. I am internally rejoicing, even though I am uncertain what precisely caused the breakthrough.

I am, however, not the only one aware of the changes happening within the Arishok. And while his second in command is content to observe and wait, third is not quite so lenient. I can understand where he is coming from, as his primary role on the land is recruitment of new agents, and as such, he can easily see where this is all leading. He grumbles, and threatens me on the side to stop, or else he will be forced to deal with me.

I feel a rush of adrenaline, as I look at him defiantly, and tell him to go ahead and **try**. The horned man grunts, but seeing my unwavering certainty, backs off. I know it is not surrender, he merely realized he cannot face me head on. He instead appeals to the Arishok, and when that, predictably, fails, he attempts to raise a mutiny against me within squad. To his frustration, and my pleasant surprise, he fails at that, too.

But I begin watching my back more carefully, nonetheless – the man is getting desperate, and I wouldn’t put an assassination attempt above him. I ensure to eat things someone else had taken a bite of before me, and sleep with my barrier stretching around farther than usual, to alert me of enemy’s presence. Even though I manage to avoid his traps, it begins wearing down on us both, this constant tension both of us live in.

Unfortunately, as long as he doesn’t strike directly against me, and **first** , I cannot make a move against him. My position, while somewhat secured by Arishok’s words and refusal to listen to his third’s suggestion to rid of me, is nowhere near allowing to issue challenges of my own. I hate it, and my nerves are in tatters.  

This causes me to become reckless, and gamble, truly gamble with my life, in order to push the change forward. I hadn’t intended on revealing anything vital of me until I was certain of Arishok’s shift in allegations, but the stress has made me confrontational. I want it to be over, one way or another, even though I have some time before me - three days till Kont-aar, and at least two weeks for the escort to fully assemble there.

So I ambush the horned man on the bow of the ship, where a semblance of privacy can be maintained.

‘Tell me, what would be my place within the Qun, had I been born under its auspices, or converted?’

He considers my question seriously.

‘You are a very capable scout, of a swift mind and flexibility allowing to adjust to the changing situation. I would see you achieving a great success within ranks of Ben’Hassrath.’

I smile gently, replying to his words,

‘I would have been in chains, unable to ever achieve my true potential.’

He frowns, and denies my words with conviction,

‘The Qun treats all fairly, regardless of their origin. I know of at least one elf which achieved a prestigious ranking within the organization…’ he pauses, seeing as I shake my head. I lift my hand, fingers up, and reach out to my mana, making them glow, while repeating softly,

‘I would have been in chains.’ Understanding shines in his eyes, when he looks at the bluish light of my aura, and I continue, ‘My lips sown shut, unable to speak a word. My movement restrained, unable to do anything aside from what my handler allowed. Restricted from greatness.’

I look at him, and ask,

‘Can you imagine me like that, Arishok?’

‘I thought you for a rogue’ he replies after a moment of silence, with astonishment.

‘I do not have much power, and a particular disability of mine disallows conventional usage of spells.’ I glance away, at the shores of Rivaini in the distance. ‘So I’ve learned to cope, to forge this weakness of mine into strength.’

‘This is not the only instance when the Qun would have forbidden someone from existence in accordance to their strength, instead shaping them into what their view allows. Something much below their potential. The woman I’ve showed you would have been considered very much useless, forced away from her flowers. People who do not contribute to society, have no right of existence – and the Qun defines what is the valuable contribution.’

I can see he is considering my words, and I quietly restate my question,

‘Can you imagine me in chains, Arishok?’ I turn away to leave, and after a few steps, his hoarse voice reaches me, barely above whisper,

‘Valotaar. I was called… Valotaar.’

I nod wordlessly, recognizing it for a boon in exchange for my trust, as I walk away.

Pride, Arishok, is often the answer, the path to walk as well as the end goal to strive for. The reason for my existence in a way I do, regardless of my inability to fully use the gift I have. I have managed to overcome it, turn it into my weapon instead, because I refused to be affected by my loss. This one, but also, the one of my reality and home, and then the loss of Arlathan, and Fen. I refuse to let it break me, now, and from now on, too.

Not everyone possesses it, nor even many, but the freedom of thought is what allows it to exist. A sense of self. And thoughts and self-awareness are among the things the Qun seeks to control.

You would strip it, along with my freedom, away.

This is why I must oppose the Qun, this is why I cannot stand the possibility of ever losing control over my life in such manner. Because the thought of having it taken away frightens me far more than the possibility of losing my life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your comments, I really appreciate the support.  
> I am not all that happy with this chapter, but it's not too bad.  
> By my estimation, we are 3-4 chapters away from Inquisition (unless, of course, I have a sudden vision I will HAVE to include), but still a few important things will happen along the way.


	28. Rebellious Pride

**Rebellious Pride**

In spite of him granting me the knowledge of his name, I remain uneasy for the next days, uncertain of my success. While it was quite significant of him to do so, it doesn’t mean he is entirely convinced. Regardless of how precious the names are to Qunari, there’s a decisive difference between friendship and readiness to abandon, betray, all that you lived for your entire life.

Trying to distract myself from my anxiety, I spend time on musings on the names and their significance. I went by four, already, and I can see myself taking up more in the future, although the one I am most connected to is the one that describes me most. The one that was chosen for me by others.

I feel peculiar kinship with the Qunari in this regard. They go nameless during the first years of their lives, only to assume them once their individualities and preferences are formed.

The system refers to them by numbers assigned at birth, and functions they perform – and that brings a whole new meaning to objectification of thinking beings. I am appalled by this, each time it is brought to my attention, this attempt to kill the individuality at an early stage.

Which is, instinctively, rejected and fought by the young Qunari. It makes me think that in reality, the best agents of the Qun are the ones who go against its teachings the most.

While posing indifference, I can feel my nerves tingling, as I await the Arishok’s decision. I had played all of my cards, and now, it remains to be seen whether it was enough.

The day when we are supposed to reach Kont-aar arrives, and with it, an answer. I see the body of the Ben’Hassrath recruiter with his throat cut in the morning, as well as four others, similarly dead, and I know I’ve won. And as I look at them being unceremoniously being dumped in the water, I can’t help the victorious smile as the green water swallows them.

Arishok… Valotaar doesn’t say a word, but he doesn’t need to. He is a man of action, more than words, and they speak loudly for him. There was a reason why I was shown the bodies, there was a reason why the man is dead. I’m surprised that his second is not, in fact; but it seems that he is of more flexible mind and nature.

Truth to be told, I am a bit shocked there are only five bodies. Though I shouldn’t be – the Qunari around me were those personally chosen by Valotaar to accompany him on his… mission? More like exile, in practice. And if he chose them, then there must have been a reason for it.

Whether they completely agree with him is another matter, but their loyalty is strong enough that they will follow him. I think that my attempts at being friendly hadn’t worsened the issue, but I do not delude myself in thinking they had any significance. No, these people had chosen to serve their leader, in life or death, a devotion that is much more understandable than the vague notions of the system.

But this is not the end of the surprises for the day. We dock in the late afternoon, but not in Kont-aar, as I expected, but in Seere, which is quite a distance away from our theoretical destination.  I wasn’t even aware that the course had changed, nor how did he guess I was to go to Seere either way. There’s quite a large Wings’ dispatch settled here, specifically tasked with observing Kont-aar, and all the people who leave and go there. The information we get is quite useful, as most of new Qunari which are to settle on the continent go through orientation training here. Once they’re identified, it is only a matter of following up on them, and their actions.

My astonishments for the day are not over, however, as he summons Isabela up, and looking at me meaningfully, takes her chains off. As the shackles fall from her hands, she looks at me, a clearly lost and as flabbergasted by the situation as myself.

With a tentative smile in her direction and a wave of hand to Arishok, I tell her to follow me and lead her to the Wings’ hideout.

Here, it is a large port tavern with quite impressive - and useful - underground cave complex accessible from the basement. It used to belong to smugglers who kept their goods down there, hidden from port authorities. We managed to get a hold on this little gem, and made them more suitable for our purposes.

This time, I am not surprised to see Esme here. Typically, either she or Ebareth stay here, oftentimes, together, responsible for watching over the spying operations here. However, since the man has responsibilities over all of our watch over the Qunari, there are times when he is forced to travel, and currently, it’s one of those times. Unsurprising, considering how I had pushed for more and more information, during my time in Kirkwall.

‘Quicksilver’ She smirks at the sight of me, and performs the damned bow. Isabela behind me draws a sharp breath. ‘I hear you made both Valeria and my lover livid with your decisions. Apparently, they questioned both your judgement and sanity, venomously. The messenger that came with the letters was apparently quite glad to be gone, as they were both spitting mad – and not even Tasha could calm them down.’

She is far too pleased with the situation, so something else must have happened. I tilt my head, and wonder out loud,

‘I doubt Ryanth was pleased with the situation.’

Couldn’t be Riv, that’s for sure. The man keeps away from such power plays and skirts on the edge between approval and dissaproval. Always careful, when expressing his opinions.

Esme rolls her eyes after my observation.

‘Astute as always’ she mutters to herself, before rising the volume of her voice, ‘He was not and apparently told them off; in no uncertain words saying that whatever your decision was, it is not their place to challenge it. Especially since there’s nothing they can do about it anymore.’

‘Hmm.’ I nod distractedly, taking the couch, and motioning Isabela to join me. She does so a bit nervously, and Esme casts a measuring glance in her direction, before looking back at me. Not the first time, nor last when I brought back strays, after all.

‘Unusually harsh, for Ryanth’ There’s a note of inquiry in my voice.

‘That’s because Tasha is pregnant.’ Smiles Esme. ‘And apparently, their childish behaviour was wearing her down. Ryanth wasn’t feeling tolerant.’

‘Understandable.’ I smile back widely, happy for the two of them. ‘But, where are my manners. Esme, this is Isabela. Sha has run afoul of one Castillon, and needs a safe place to stay and work. I’ll leave it for you to arrange something to suit her, later on.’

The females nod to one another in greeting, as my mind considers the issue more thoroughly.

‘What do we know of the merchant? He is local lording, I presume?’

Esme blinks a few times, clearly thrown by my sudden change of topic, but replies,

‘Well, yes, as much as any Antivan **can** be a lord. And quite rich too. He has numerous businesses here and in Antiva, though ever since his abstruse fallout with the Crows, he has decided to reside here. However, due to the connections he has with Antivan Crown, no contract on his head had been placed.’ She goes to the bookshelf, and after a quick perusal, brings back a few reports on the man we have.

‘Thus far, you mean.’ I mutter to myself distractedly, glancing at the papers she showed me. Closer scrutiny reveals that while there are other ways to deal with him, but personally, I prefer the more permanent option.

‘Well, if the Crows are not taking care of the issue, I think we ought to relieve the world of this slaver scum’s presence on our own. I do not think Master Mattern will mind our interference too much.’

I can feel disbelief emanating from Isabela at my casual command, but my fellow Wing is not overly surprised.

‘Consider it done.’ Esme shrugs indifferently, and I decide I’ll leave it up to her, if she is so certain of herself. I am not very familiar with Rivain and local situation, while she has been here for years.

We spend the afternoon looking through the reports, and discussing the latest news she got from the Qunari compound. Isabela is, of course, absent, I have sent her away to attend to herself properly and get some rest. Obliviously, I had no intentions of letting her in on the more sensitive stuff we are dealing with.

In the evening, I ready myself to return, and Esme looks up at me, bewildered.

‘And where are you off to?’ She tries, and fails, to inject a note of respect into the question; it comes off more incredulous than anything.  

‘Why, back to the ship, of course.’ I hide a delighted smirk at her utterly flabbergasted expression.

‘Whyever would you do that, Quicksilver?’ She visibly struggles to maintain her calm. I’ve got to give her proper recognition for the attempt, but I know her far too well, and she is so not fooling me.

‘Because, in spite of the lack of faith you all exhibited in regards to my mission, I had succeeded.’ My tone drops a few degrees, and finally, I allow myself to express some of the frustration I’ve felt with them. ‘And now I have a ship-full of Qunari who had decided to abandon the Qun, and have to do decide what to do with them. Later.’

‘You’ve actually managed to steal the Arishok.’ Her voice is full of amazement, and I still by the door.

‘That I did.’ I flash her a victorious smile, and exit the caverns, returning to the common room of the tavern. The Wing by the counter bows slightly in my direction in acknowledgement, but I walk out straight into the night air. The air is chilly, and an evening breeze unpleasant on my skin, so I jog back, to make my blood run faster. I could use magic to shield myself from the cold, adding some warmth to the aura, but it would be a waste of mana. Especially since I can deal with the issue more conventionally.

I know the Arishok awaits me, so I let myself in his quarters, lightly knocking on a doorframe to get his attention. He has his hands clasped on his back, and looks at the map of Thedas, spread on the wall – part decoration, part practically. I come to stand next to him, and ask,

‘Why did you let her go?’

He looks at me sideways, sardonically rising his eyebrow.

‘Don’t tell me you weren’t planning on doing so yourself.’

Suddenly, I am overwhelmed by tenderness, which I had not expected, in regards to him. It was only fascination, thus far, but now, it is so much more.

How well he knows me, after mere three months! To not only discern my intentions, anticipate my wishes, but also, to perceive I would hate having to ask for it. Even if it is a small matter, now that he has made a much more profound decision, I am touched by his thoughtfulness.

And that’s when I decide, to the void with reason. And void take fate. None of these had ever been kind to me, nor worked out for me. So what if it can fall apart, at any time. I, or he, can very well die, tomorrow, as consequence of our actions.

He is far too tall for me, so I pull him down to me by the strapping of armour on his chest into a heated kiss. In spite of the surprise, he responds eagerly, and all thoughts and doubts flee my mind.

The position soon becomes uncomfortable, and with irritated grunt, he picks me up easily, and sets on a high table, where he continues with fervent kisses. But at the same time, he is careful, so very careful with me, as if I could fall apart under his hands, with a wrong move. When we take a moment to catch our breaths, I chuckle lightly,

‘I’m not going to break.’ I smile softly, looking up at him.

It is very awkward, at first. In spite of my reassurances, he is just as delicate as before, afraid of crushing me, or hurting me in any way. And I have almost forgotten, how it is to have a lover by my side. So we stumble, and we laugh off our mistakes, and teach one another of our bodies, surprisingly gently, in spite of the original heat raging between us. His stalwart discipline makes him a very patient and attentive partner, and I’ve had long practice in keeping my desires on a leash, so I can play along.

I wake up sprawled on his muscled chest, and observe at his calm, sleeping face, amazed that we got here. Really, this was decidedly **not** what I expected, setting out for Kirkwall all these months ago.

We have our night of peace, but come morning, reality comes knocking back, and the course of action has to be decided. After a late breakfast, I ask the question which has been playing in my mind for a while already.

‘Honestly, how ready are your people for the war?’

‘Very.’ Valotaar replies quietly, and I draw a rapid breath, suddenly fearful. ‘We are only waiting for a Templar-Mage war to begin, before we begin our offence on Tevinter.’

‘What do you mean by that?’ I ask, alarmed by the peculiar tone with which he spoke.

‘If the remainder of Thedas is engaged, there will be no support for the ‘Vints to draw on. Even if they have vast connections. A blind man could see the tensions running high.’ Valotaar swallows, before diverting his gaze away from me, and admitting, ‘But I cannot say we didn’t add oil to the fire.’

‘You mean Qun’s agents have been stirring up the mages?’ I confirm dubiously, all the while trying to recall the reports I’ve had from Ebareth. While he had mentioned an increase in activity, there was nothing that would suggest such large-scaled operation.

He hesitates, before answering,

‘Correct.’

And I realize looking at his uneasiness that this conversation is a very first act of offensive betrayal on his part of the Qun.  Is it any wonder Valotaar feels disturbed? While it’s not like it was spoken out loud between us, it was quite clear from the start, that this is what I intended. To use him as a weapon against his country of birth. And he knew it, as well as myself.

I run my hand comfortingly over his, before interlacing our fingers, expressing my gratitude. He glances down, before lifting my hand and brushing the back of it with his lips, softly.

‘The Vints have no chance, if the war was to begin right now.’ I acknowledge morosely, sighing. ‘If you were to point the weakness which could prevent the war from happening, what would it be?’

Valotaar stays quiet for a few moments, clearly weighing his words.

‘Most would say it’s Seheron, where our offence focuses right now.’ He replies finally.

‘But…’ I prompt him on.

‘But it’s a diversion from our true weakness, which has always been the fleet.’ Valotaar looks at me with composure.

‘You mean that the whole war on Seheron has been merely a diversion?’ I am not quite as calm as he is about the matter. Even without accurate information, I can easily see that the resources engaged in this operation must have been immense. Why, the Vints have been convinced for years of it being crucial to the Qunari. **I** was convinced of it, myself. I feel a sour taste in my mouth, at this unwelcome realization.

‘It worked, didn’t it?’ He shrugs with a bit of condescension, and I fight off the urge to groan.

‘Currently, there are many modernizations going, and new ships being built, in the large shipyard on Par Vollen. Destroy the shipyard, as well as some of these vessels, and we… they are set back for years.’

‘It would give Thedas time to put itself together, after the inevitable Templar-Mage war. Time to sort everything out, and react.’ I mutter to myself, countless scenarios running through my head.

For the dinner, we invite the one remaining Ben’Hassrath to join our discussions. Arissar, for that’s how he introduces himself, has a lot of valuable insight to offer. I look at Valotaar at some point, and ask,

‘Couldn’t you simply stop the offence from happening? You **are** the army leader, aren’t you?’

‘It’s not that simple.’ Arishok looks at me, but it’s his second who elaborates.

‘If he even suggested anything along the lines, he would be replaced. Swiftly.’

I darken, the easy solution thrown out the window. I could hope, but of course, it could never be quite so simple.

‘I’ll be replaced either way’ notes Valotaar matter-of-factly, and I look at him in inquiry. ‘I’ve let the Thief go, and I was supposed to come back both with her, and the Tome. Considering how long it took me to accomplish this, the Tamassran will not be forgiving.’

An idea flashes in my head, but I keep it to myself, deciding to think it through before sharing. We call it a night, and I spend the time until morning sleeplessly, mulling over the issue. Come the first rays of sun, I am more or less decided how to proceed.

‘I’ll take Isabela’s place and go with you to Par Vollen.’ I announce after the breakfast, and Arishok chokes on the brew he was drinking, while Arissar looks at me sharply.

‘That’s… not a very good plan.’ The Ben’Hassrath looks as if he has a much sharper word at the tip of his tongue, but clearly, tries to be diplomatic, and not call me stupid right in my face.

‘Do you even know what the re-education planned for the Thief on our return entails?’

‘I can hazard a guess’ I reply evenly, not swayed from the notion.

‘They will break you, thoroughly.’ Says Arishok quietly, with an ominous ring to his voice. ‘They will break you, and then dangle Qun as a solution to all your troubles, a way of saving yourself.’

I knew there was a reason I detested subjecting Isabela to that, and am suddenly more glad than ever before she will be spared this… **merciful enlightenment** of the Qun.

‘They can’t break me.’ I state with certainty.

Arissar shakes his head, disagreeing.

‘No one is unyielding.’

‘True.’ I admit easily, garnering surprised looks from the two horned males in the room. ‘ **If** you know how to get to them, that is. There has to be a leverage, and…’ I look through the window, finishing, ‘they do not have one over me.’

‘They can’t kill me, because that would mean admitting defeat, and I can endure pain easily enough. I have been tortured before.’ I have a permanent injury to show for it. I have gotten so used to the constant pain overworking my leg brings, there are days I forget about it completely, but now, my hand instinctively goes to the mangled thigh.

 ‘Not to mention, I actually have to pretend I am, indeed, breaking. This will make them lay off, step by step.’ I smile with bitter cynicism.

Arissar shakes his head, obviously thinking I am out of my mind, and way over my head. Valotaar, however, understands me better, and asks,

‘Are you certain?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then we’ll do it.’ He says with apparent regret, clearly reluctant to allow me to do so. But he respects me enough to trust my judgement, and details of the plan are honed out during the remainder of the day.

Not all soldiers will accompany us on the journey. Arishok doesn’t hide our purpose from them, and some do not want to involve themselves in a strike against their former comrades. I lead those who decide against it to the Wings hideout, where Esme seems slightly overwhelmed with the amount of new tasks I saddled her with. When she hears of my plans of sailing to Par Vollen – even though I keep most of the details, like the fact I am going as a prisoner, to myself – she does not waste words in telling me I’m insane.

I just smile, because I do not disagree with her, not entirely. But I am far more afraid of the success of Qunari invasion, than I am of losing my life. Not that I intend for it to be lost, and we are having few contingency plans set up, in case I am forced to leave the island fast.

But this way, Valotaar will be able to retain his position for a while longer; hopefully, long enough for us to succeed. Therefore, my presence is necessary.

I do not doubt I’ll be able to impersonate Isabela; I interrogate her thoroughly on the theft of the Tome itself this evening, to make sure I have the details right. They have no description of her aside from Arissar’s reports, which he has been modifying in the last few hours, to suit the story. Other than that, I am sure I can play thief quite successfully; my talents do not lie far away from hers, after all.

We set sail the very next day, with an official explanation of a storm having delayed us. Arissar orders one mast to be hacked down before we enter Kont-aar’s line of sight, as well as breaking of a few other things, to give more credit to the story. The manpower losses are also chalked up to it, and no one asks more questions; the port guards muttering unflattering words about the fragility of the pirate boats. True, the excuse would not have worked quite as well if we had travelled on dreadnought, as these are capable of easily weathering most storms.

The escort on the Kont-aar gathers faster than expected, and we can cross ocean with a degree of safety. Arishok insists on travelling aboard the same ship, after its been repaired, back to Par Vollen, pointing out that in case of an encounter, a priority for us would be to run, and not engage. Especially considering the valuable cargo on board. And the Qunari vessels have much to speak for them, but swiftness is not one of those things.

With some reluctance, the commander of Kont-aar relents.

Valotaar had no reason for this decision aside from selfishness, even if his arguments seem logical. It gives us a few more weeks to enjoy each other, before the axe falls, and we make the best of it. One day, when I am lying on the deck, enjoying the warmth of sun, he comes up to me and draws me onto his lap. His underlings smile slightly at the sight of such lack of restraint on the part of their leader, but otherwise, do not comment. I am glad that the other escort ships are too far apart to see what’s exactly happening on board, or such think would not be possible. And I would have to be confined in the hull.

‘It’s a wonder your people call you by your birth name at all.’ Arishok says, and I lift my head to meet his eyes with a question written on my face.

‘Considering how much you value it, and how much importance you place in it, I cannot imagine anyone calling you anything but Pride, in recognition of it.’

‘You are not the first one to note it.’ I smile, suddenly once again appreciative of his astuteness. ‘I was, in fact, called Pride, by some.’

‘Hmm.’ He buries his nose in my silvery hair, and I snuggle more closely, enjoying his presence. I didn’t even realize I missed this kind of closeness. It is a pleasant thing, having a lover, and even if I can’t say I love him, not really, I definitely care for him.

Unfortunately, our reverie doesn’t last long.

The shores of Par Vollen appear on the distance, after three weeks of voyage. I look from the ship at the sharp cliffs, and steel myself. Arissar comes up, and chains my hands behind my back, looking at me significantly.

‘You can still back out, you know.’ Ben’Hassrath murmurs to me. ‘It will be much harder once we get there.’

I observe the land in the distance, replying nonchalantly,

‘I’ve never done that in my entire life. Once I made the decision, I would always follow through with it.’ I glance at him. ‘Regardless of the consequences it meant for me. This time, it will be no different.’

Then again, never before had I walked straight into tortures with my head held high.

Creators, give me strength.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am glad you people are still enjoying it. I have to apologize in advance, but I do not know when the next chapter will be up. I have it mostly thought through, but some of the scenes I am uncertain of, and it is really important to get them right. As you can guess, this will not be pleasant for Fean'Na, and I do not want to screw it up.
> 
> I am not getting graphic, however, because reading detailed descriptions of tortures has me retching, so I do not think I would be very good at it. Which means I'll have to go for impression, and that is not easy.
> 
> So. In case I do not have it by the end on next week - I should, but I do not know - I am sorry.


	29. Dangerous Pride

**Dangerous Pride**

Unfortunately, our plans could not be very precise. Neither of the men had been on Par Vollen in years, which means the situation must have changed from what they knew. Even though Valotaar received regular reports as a member of chief leadership, the success of our mission will hang on details, and these, we do not have.

I do have, however, a general idea of how I’ll proceed, although it will be, obviously, subject to change, dependent on circumstances. There’s no way to be certain what exactly I’ll have to face, even though Arissar does his best to explain the generalities of their techniques to me beforehand. He is, however, trained in strategical espionage, and has little technical knowledge of the re-education. Not to mention, from his words, the said re-education is adjusted to suit the target, and therefore differs depending on it.

So I will be forced to play it by the ear, partially, and hope it works out. Fortunately, my adaptability is one of the things that carried me through the changes in my life, so I pray it will ease things along this time as well.

As we enter the port, it hits me, a blow in my gut, how accurate Valotaar's words prove to be. There is a fucking **myriad** of ships docking around; I can see the shipyard working in full swing. There are two dreadnoughts being built, and a few more undergoing repairs. In short - way too many for my peace of mind.

I feel oppressed by the Capital City of Par Vollen. It irritates me that I am letting it intimidate me, even though, I am certain, it was built with precisely this effect in mind. The buildings are all blocky, rectangular and almost modern in their precise, rigorous layout. Eerily reminiscent of the ones from Earth, only without glass and architectural tricks to make them seem lighter, more bearable. And all in the boring grey, practical and ugly. Whole streets of identical houses, side by side, exactly the same and so… artless. So dispiritingly lifeless. Grey.

Arlathan was the picture of glory. Minrathous of the past shined with prosperity, and even now, it is ostensibly dazzling, in the right places. Antiva is vibrant, and brims with energy, both on street, and off it. Even Kirkwall has its own identity, a history of struggle written on the paving and walls, easily read by observant eye. But here, in the center of Qun? There’s no soul, unlike any other city I’ve been to. Just… shapes. And straight lines.

I do not have much time to get a closer look, delve into these streets, as I am roughly pulled by the chain on my wrists. The guard in front is impatient to deliver me to the camp, and go to a tavern, or do whatever the allowed respite for soldiers here is. Valotaar would have preferred to send someone he could trust along with me with me, but I persuaded him otherwise. Even if he explained it by his sense of responsibility to see the task till its end, I was against anything which could put him under closer scrutiny. He has to be above reproach for our plan to succeed, and worrying about a thief would surely raise some eyebrows.

The camp is not an improvement over the city’s atmosphere, barracks for housing people, with metal bars on windows and metal prison doors. In front, an empty field of bare, paved ground where unfortunate detainees train to keep fit. A few workshops on the side, for people to work in. And a massive wall, surrounding it all. Mustn’t forget the wall.

I look at the huge stone blocks, piled atop one another and joined with a splash of mortar, and shudder. Some of them are larger than me, and it must have taken considerable work to place them there. The overwhelming impression it gives, the feeling of despair, is a wholly intentional result.

I shrug off these unwelcome feelings, before weakness can take root in me. I cannot afford it.

The other prisoners stare at me with blatant curiosity, but I am not given a chance to return the favour, swiftly shoved into a single cell without windows, behind heavy, metal door. It seems they were told I was a flight risk.

And so it begins.

The Qunari re-education officers are much more professional and deliberate about their tasks than the slavers I’ve met ever were. I would have been impressed by their techniques, and careful administration of gradually applied pressure, if not for the fact I have to experience it on my own skin. I am unable to get a rise out of them, which helped in hastening the end of daily sessions with my former torturers. They simply lost their temper, and consequently, I lost my consciousness from their careless blows.

Qunari are unimpressed, unmoved by my derision and contempt.

They are also very methodical, using what they know of the customs and general psychological knowledge to their advantage, dosing violence and pressure accordingly. I should feel honoured that they have adjusted their approach for my sake, but for the love of Creators, I cannot find it in me to appreciate special treatment. Perhaps I would be less ungrateful if it weren't, well, tortures we are talking about.

Firstly, they try to take away my dignity. Stripping me of my clothes in front of a forum of impassionate observers, a very thorough check is performed. There are, apparently, practical concerns to it, as people try to slip in numerous tools through, whether to try to get away, or kill themselves – using every possible means to get past the guards. Or holes. But the procedure is made as humiliating as possible, to evoke feelings of shame and despair in the recipient.

Then comes the beating, and pushing my body to exhaustion, and violation of myself in numerous ways. I’m put in a solitary cell for days, at times, without breathing a word to anyone, and it is supposed to get both my claustrophobia and the need for contact going. I remember suddenly, with a touch of cynicism, an old Chinese torture from Earth – leaving someone by a constantly dripping water. I wonder if it would have worked, here, but obviously, I am not giving them any ideas. They are plenty creative on their own.

And frustrated, because nothing just seems to **work**.

The thing is, there are many things supporting me, and they’re unaware of them. First and the most important fact, is the bone-deep awareness that I could break out of here anytime I wished. I am **supposed** to feel helpless and abandoned and weak, it’s supposed to make me more pliable and susceptible to suggestion, yet I’m not. I still have my magic, my aura close-clinging to my skin, coiled around me like a viper ready to strike. And when the guard comes to violate me – being reduced to a mere whore is to make me think less of myself – I entertain all of the hundreds ways in which I could kill him, at this very moment. When his hands rough up my breasts, I think on how I could break them so thoroughly the bones would be crushed to dust. When he chokes me, and I wheeze trying to catch a staggering breath, I wonder how his own windpipe would have fared after a pointed kick. And when he reaches his peak inside me, his body trembling in release, I imagine ripping his heart out, the way I saw Ghost do. I am pretty certain I could do it, even if I lack his lyrium, my powers would be enough. Though far less glowy or spectacular.

This is why I am indifferent to it, while with June, I was not. Here, I can fight back, I’m simply **choosing** not to, at least, not until I know our purpose is accomplished. It makes all the difference.

The lonely confinement is to fray on my nerves, but instead, it is a blessed respite which I use to reinforce my defences. Normal person would have hated the close walls, crowding the occupant of the room, and the lack of windows. And the boredom, because there’s nothing but one’s thoughts here. I am a mage, and Fade is never away from me. I’ve never tried to consciously reach it before in my dreams, and while I am no Somniari, or have the deep connection like Evanuris to the breath of the world, my spark is sufficient. I can’t shape it, but nonetheless, Spirits find me in my dreams, and so, I am never truly alone. And I am never bored, because the Fade in my dreams flows and changes and I can play along.

Thus, all of the mental burdens placed on me are rendered meaningless.

The physical pain I’ve long grown used to, and dealt with, so the fact that I tolerate it without batting an eyelash is unsurprising for me. I contemplate dispassionately what a sad life I must have lived, if a regular torture is not upsetting me much.

A few weeks in, Arissar arrives, in accordance to our previous plans, both as a backup and a source of information regarding the progress of our mission – obviously, closed off from the world, I am both deaf, and blind in regards to what is happening outside. Valotaar has some arrangements in place already, our escape route laid out. But the offence is yet far from prepared, and I know, I have to be patient for a while longer.

It feels strange, to be one of the smaller cogs in place, for a change, instead of master manipulator behind the scheme. I’ve grown used to my importance in the Wings, and so, now, being reduced to merely waiting until my time comes is grating.

‘Are you sure you want to continue?’ Arissar asks me quietly remaining behind to close me back up in my cell after a particularly arduous session. Blood is flowing down from between my legs, and I struggle to keep up with him, as we pass through the empty corridors. I slump against the wall of my confinement room, overcame with momentary weakness. Nonetheless, I raise my head and glare at him, pursing my lips stubbornly.

For me, it would be admitting defeat, if I gave up now. It would mean they succeeded in getting to me.

I refuse to let them win; my pride would never allow me it.

There are days when I think darkly that it will be my final downfall. There will come a day when I take a leap, which will have me crashing down. With no Fen to shield me from the impact, this time.

Yes, yes, I admit, all this time in solitude had turned me somewhat philosophical and introspective. Well, who can blame me? With only myself for a regular company, since I refuse to call my handlers a **company** of any kind.

The problematic thing turns out to be, unexpectedly, the pretend-to-be-breaking part of the exercise. I need to make it believable, but whenever they come, I instinctively retreat behind my walls, and that does not convince them of any progress being made. It becomes especially worrisome, once Arissar warns me that if I do not step down from my game, they’ll attempt to use drugs on me.

I bless Creators for the fact that on Thedas, the drugs are still not very developed, faulty, and therefore, not commonly used. They hold risks of rendering the recipient crazy, or make them a slobbering, mindless puppet.

For me, the scariest possibility is the fact that the way they affect mind could make me betray my magic. And then, everything would be over, both for me, and for Valotaar.

So I make a better effort, and reach out to my memories from the Andrastian war, and then, farther back, to Arlathan. I recount all of the numerous ways in which I’ve failed, both people who depended on me, and myself. With luck, they mistake guilt for loosing spirit, and put off the risky chemicals.

Additional few pointed suggestions and advices from Arissar, and danger is averted, for the time being. Scrutiny over me lessens, as does severity of the abuse, and instead, I spend days on lectures from the Tamassran, introducing Qun to me as means of leaving the camp. The way they paint it, a great solution to all of world’s troubles, makes it easy to comprehend how, why, people turn. Why they abandon reason and logic of their own in favour of this new order. Once broken, they’re susceptible to manipulation, and with the proper suggestions, the mercy of the system can be easily portrayed in a positive light.

I speak all the right words in appropriate places, and after six months, they believe me cowed enough to start helping with work around the camp. People here are being re-educated, but also, they earn their keep in the Qun. No exceptions.

I meet with my fellow prisoners, and alongside them, am catered towards some of the tasks – as a female of a rather lithe body structure, they do not place unreasonable demands. I am placed in potion making facilities, and grimly, I realize, these are not the typical, everyday concoctions. No, these are all for battle – and I am decidedly unhappy with this knowledge. To think they’re already preparing for the invasion.

I can’t say I befriend any of them. We are separated by culture, custom, closer scrutiny and attention paid to me by our handlers, and, last and not least, language. Most of them are unfamiliar with anything but Quanlat, and my own understanding of it is… lacklustre is a kind word. I know maybe a few phrases.  

The ones that do know Common are not keen on serving as translators… On serving as anything at all, and they keep to themselves. To each his own, here, is the motto.

Still, after a time, they warm up to me, somewhat, and I have a few cautious conversations with horned man who tells me to call him Tarvash.

Tarvash is frighteningly observant, and luckily for me, still unbroken, because otherwise, I would have been a goner. It takes him only a few days to catch onto a fact that I try to conceal from the enforcers.

‘You are far from beaten, aren’t you?’

My heart stops for a moment from shock, but I force myself to glance at him with controlled indifference. After a moment of staring contest, he shrugs, and abandons the issue. But I keep my guard up, ever since. If he could figure it out, so could others.

Finally, Arissar tells me the preparations are finished. The whole thing is planned in two days, and I am giddy in anticipation – finally, finally, I am getting out of this hellhole. This passive inaction was really getting to me.

My inmates can feel my excitement, but keep it to themselves – honour among thieves, or some other, strange kind of loyalty, against the jailers. I look at them and wonder, whether I should bring it up, or simply leave them behind. There’s nothing connecting the bunch of us, not really, aside from being in the same unfortunate place at the same time – but I am reluctant to simply leave them behind.  

I reach out to Tarvash, and tell him that I’m going to make a run for it, and that should any of the others wish, they could follow. He looks at me with uninmpressed, Qunari version of ridicule.

‘And just how are you planning on doing that, Bas?’ The man snorts, crossing his muscled arms.

‘Well, you will just have to trust me.’ I reply evenly, unwilling to risk my plans by betraying them prematurely. I do not trust that there are no spies, mingling among the prisoners – that’s what I would have done in the overseers’ place. And considering that they have been successfully running the place for years, I would guess they’re better at this than me.

He scoffs derisively.

‘ **If** you break out, then we will talk.’

One would think they would jump at the occasion to get out of here, but no, look a gift horse in the mouth, first.

‘It will be too late for talk, then. I won’t have time for dallying.’ It’s ridiculous, I have no fucking time to spare for arguing about this. I tap my foot impatiently, looking at him levelly, and he turns his gaze away, with apparent discomfort.

‘Fine.’ He grumbles. ‘If you have means of getting us out, then I’ll gather the people.’

I nod, and pause mid-motion, forced by my conscience to add by the leave,

‘A word of warning – it will be dangerous.’

This time, he smiles, with a touch of humour.

‘We are convicts, obviously, they **will** give chase.’

Of course it would be dangerous, I scold myself, shaking my head as I walk away. Running is dangerous, and staying behind is too. Living in Thedas is dangerous! I refrain from correcting his assumptions regarding the nature of danger  – I still do not trust him enough to divulge any details.

The following day we are, as usual, catered off to our tasks, under careful watch of our guards. To my vicious delight, the one assigned to me this day is a man who was the one responsible for applying some of the more creative techniques used on me.

Reaching out to my magic is like welcoming an old friend. I wore it like a mantle around me, but the lack of touch, of power flowing through me, was making me itchy. I’ve never went that long without actually using it, ever since I’ve learnt how to. I cannot imagine how had I lived without it before. My life on Earth is blurry and seems bland,  and incredibly distant.

My aura stretches, answering to my call, as I coat my fingers in deadly, silver glow, cutting through my restraints during a moment of inattention on my watcher’s part. A blink of an eye later, and I clean blood off my fingers, as the horned man lifelessly slumps to the ground.

‘Well, that was easy. Considering I am terribly out of practice…’ I mutter to myself, mentally reviewing the plan.

Arissar went ahead, to help Valotaar in arranging a commotion sufficient to draw everyone’s attention away from the port. Me? I get the easy, blowing up part of the deal. But considering that I’ve just upped the stakes, deciding to bring along a couple of misfits, I just might **barely** make it.

It brings release, and I can breathe more easily, as I deliver vengeful death on the heads of my oppressors, one by one. As the body count grows, time is slipping away, and I make sure to hasten myself.

Once I’m done with the watchers, I meet Tarvash by the gate, with a few Qunari whom I’ve seen around. As expected, most opted to remain, instead of risking themselves to an uncertain fate.

Their loss.

Tarvash’s eyes widen, as I cut through the chains binding them with apparent ease, before strolling and opening the gates with a key, picked up from one of the… unfortunately… deceased. The grin he throws my way is toothy and savage, and I remember the stories Ebareth told me.

All Qunari have a potential to lose themselves in their brutal nature, without proper guidance – that’s why they need the Qun. To keep their tempers in check with the rigours of discipline.

Excuses, I told him. One doesn’t need a whole fucking system to be disciplined. If they are more aggressive, then it’s all about the approach to the problem, about determination. Ebareth was fine, wasn’t he?

However, it is a particularly bad moment to fall back into general musings, and I shake myself out of them forcefully. I have to keep my mind on the task.

Western part of Par Vollen Capital City is engulfed in fiery glow. I can see from the distance, heat making metal glow, and the yellow and red ribbons of flames, dancing with the wind. It allows us safe and swift passage through the city, right up to harbour, where I meet with Arissar.

‘Most of the soldiers have gone to help with the disaster, but some remained.’ He says, falling into step behind me.

‘They won’t be a problem’ I reassure him, speeding up my gait with a touch of magic. Before he can stop me, I blur, with a swift Fade steps traversing the distance between me and the opposition before they realize my presence.

Oh, how I missed it. Blood pumps wildly in my veins, awakened by adrenaline. But my head is clear and thinking sharp, as I count in my head, evenly, like a metronome. One, and a splatter of blood from a cut artery on the wall. Two, and the horned, clad in heavy armour man slumps from slashed tendons on his knees, screaming out his pain. Three, and a step away from an arrow sent my way by an archer from the upper level, with a side kick, sending the crippled soldier mercifully to his death. And again. One, blink across the distance between me and a shooter, two,  dodge of a small hand-blade thrust my way. Three, and the large body sent flying down, his neck breaking with the fall on the count of four.

Tarvash arrives at the scene, and begins asking questions, which I pointedly ignore, wiping the blood from my hands on a sailcloth. Arissar informs me where gaatlok is being stored, with all of the recent supplies delivered - on the Arishok’s request. I nod my acknowledgement, telling him I’ll dispatch of all hostiles in the shipyard, and he can begin with distribution of the explosive.

Fortunately, there’s not much work to be done. When it comes down to it, most of the stuff around is wooden, or from other easily flammable materials. We just need to make sure that when the fire finally starts, all of the most important machines like cranes, carving tools, new ships and their docks, blow to bits, or burn to ashes.

However Valotaar arranged his distraction – the other fire – it was very effective, as no more than a dozen of people remain on the large shipbuilding complex. I dispose of them without remorse, or even longer stop, and then return to Arissar to help with the gaatlok. Surprisingly, or maybe not so much, people from the camp I’ve brought, assist us too. Tarvosh directs them, in accordance with Arissar’s words.

I guess they figured the faster we were done, the faster we would be leaving.

For all it took so long to prepare, the actual action is over anticlimactically efficiently, and swift. Too easy. Probably because that's how all of the best operations, which play out without a hitch, ought to go. And after six months, it is only expected it was perfect.

But as I gather them and we board the ship Valotaar’s trusted attendants took over this very day, I realize that my contentment was premature.

There is still no sign of my Arishok.

I cast a worried glance to Arissar, who impassively orders to prepare for departure. Soldiers begin raising the sails, manning the oars, and loading the cannons. I feel a sense of dread as I observe the commotion, people I’ve taken with me from the camp seamlessly incorporated into the crew as part of the rowers.

It is only once we set out that I realize Arissar wasn’t planning on waiting for his leader at all. And I blow up, demanding we stop at once, and ensure we get out everyone stranded inland. To my despair, the former Ben’Hassrath ignores me, and orders the cannonade to begin.

The final surprize for the Qun, shocking the idle, skeletal crews that were left on the ships in the harbour. One by one, this part of their fleet sinks, brought down by their own invention.

As I fume and rage, Ben’Hassrath begins his explanations, his even voice cutting through the noise.

‘One of our people betrayed us. We knew our time was running short, as he was coming closer to uncovering the whole scheme, so we pushed things forward in a way which guaranteed the success of our mission.’ Arissar looks at me steadily, disregarding my fury. ‘My Arishok knew he likely wouldn’t make it out, that in order to outwit our traitor and his supervisors, he would have to lay down his life in offering.’

I bit my lip viciously, and a drop of blood trickles down from the wound.

‘Valotaar sent only his most trusted people to take over the ship, the ones we knew for certain weren’t in league with the traitor. His priority was getting **you** out, safely, before everything else. And second was the success of the mission.’

‘He agreed with you, Quicksilver, wholeheartedly. You convinced him that the Qun could not take over the world, and he was remorseful towards the way in which he had supported it thus far. He decided that this sacrifice would be his penance for his past actions.’

I disagree with him, them. As they knew I would have. Which is why they hadn’t told me anything, until it was too late to do anything about it.

I do not think Valotaar’s sacrifice was necessary, nor warranted. We could have abandoned the whole thing, went about it differently, instead of trying to save it at this cost. We could have tried talking with Raiders about offensive action against Par Vollen, or convinced Tevinter of necessity of a preventive strike.

These were, had always been, my backup plans. Unlikely to succeed, but I would much rather try this way, than lose Valotaar in such manner. I **liked** him. He was precious, unusual. I could have grown to love him. And now, I’ll never get a chance.

I flex my fingers and clench them back into fists, a few times, looking contemplatively into distance. I could try, and force them to turn back.

As if guessing my thoughts – or maybe they were just written on my face – Arissar says,

‘I cannot let you go back. In this, his orders, his authority, supersedes yours over me.’ He shakes his head, and with horror, I realize, that none of the people here will listen to me. They, all of them, will respect the final wish of their leader.

Even if this wish is the one which will cost him his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all advices in regards to the possible Qunari torture techniques. I took inspiration from the Soviet military camps, in this chapter, as described by Viktor Suvorov - if anyone is interested in source material. I had to adjust it a bit, since the camps in Soviet Union were separate for males and females, while here, I'm going co-ed, and this had to have some impact.  
> I wonder if I went too easy on Fean'Na in the camp, as she had endured it all without too much trouble. I tried to explain it all with their lack of knowledge in regards to her magic, and her perseverance, but I wonder if I didn't go too far in this regard.  
> I decided to focus more on how she was dealing with all these techniques applied on her, rather than on the tortures themselves, because that was more bearable for me. This chapter is pretty dark in itself, so I decided to lay off the heaviness a bit.  
> The arc is slowly coming to an end. I wonder, did you guys enjoy it? I most certainly did, because I just loved the Arishok in DA2, and I think he is one of the more interesting, unexplored characters. As a villain, in comparison, Meredith fell flat, at the end of Act 3. I was pretty disappointed with her, especially considering the epic ending for Act 2 - that is, depending on your choices.  
> I hope to have next chapter by the end of this week, since it is one far easier to write - last one before the Inquisition times, hopefully.


	30. Mourning Pride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Until now, we just dipped our fingers in AU of my story. But we are entering the deep AU waters, from this chapter onwards. Expect me to:  
> \- fuck with the order and resolution of sidequests, both in general and companion-wise (especially since I do not particularly care what triggers them, which means they might, or will, pop out in unexpected moments)  
> \- fuck and liberally interpret the resolution and the way the quests from the main storyline play out  
> \- fuck with the Inquisitor romances, and side romances within the ranks of her companions  
> \- fuck with the time when new areas are available for exploration of the Inquisition  
> \- aaand invent some quests and events of my own.  
> In general, I think that aside from the order in which the main storyline quests are going to turn up, and what they are about, there’s little I am gonna live completely untouched, without a spin of my own, or entirely changed. You have been warned.

**Mourning Pride**

I look at the fire blazing in the distance, the destructive force of element unstoppable, and marvel at how I have gotten so arrogant to believe everything would go according to my will. During the remainder of the voyage, I spend my time brooding, shocked by sudden, unexpected loss of my lover. I knew the mission was dangerous, I knew that we were taking an enormous risk. But somehow, while I accounted for the possibility of my own demise, the chance that he might die, while I survived, had not entered my realm of thoughts.

If anything, I have predicted all of us dying.

My own death would have been acceptable, but his, his plunges me into a realm of self-doubt and self-depreciation. I consider guiltily how I have roped, led him, to his end, mindful only of my own goals. Valotaar agreed to go along with them, but had it not been for me, he would have lived till this day.

In rare moments of lucidity, I realize, with a touch of cynicism, the double-standards I apply to the situation. It is perfectly fine if I am the one lying down my life, suffering for the success, but gods forbid others from doing so. My ego, my pride, and my damnable hero complex are way beyond norm. For some reason, I refuse to accept the fact that it was all Valotaar’s choice, I hadn’t forced him to do **anything**. And yet, here I am, blaming myself, in my fucking arrogance assuming I could have made this decision for him.

Arissar gives me a letter from my Arishok, a carefully penned out missive, which he obviously prepared beforehand. The reminder that it all happened according to **plan** does nothing to appease my temper, or the deep sadness lurking underneath it.

_‘Fean’Na,_

_if you are reading these words, then our predictions must have come true._

_I am grateful to you. For showing me the way._

_It was fun while it lasted, little shadow. I do not regret anything that happened._

_I have a final favour to ask of you._

_I do not doubt that you will continue fighting the Qun, upon your return. With whatever means necessary._

_And there will come a day when you cross paths with a Ben’Hassrath, Hissrad. One of Qun’s best, on the continent._

_We were close, once, brought up by the same Tamassran._

_I ask you try to spare his life._

_I am aware it is not the best tactical approach. But he used to be my friend, once. Saved me._

_I would like to return this favour._

_Valotaar’_

I crumple the paper in my hands, hating every word.

Hiding farther away is another reason for my guilt, one I avoid thinking about. That, similarly to the situation with Shartan, I did not care for Valotaar enough. That he was only a replacement, a shadow of Fen by my side. That, in reality, I am not really mourning him, because we did not have a deep enough connection for me to do so. I am, undoubtedly, depressed, saddened, by this outcome – but not very much. And this guilt is what keeps me confined in my cabin, because if I faced the world, it would be all too apparent that I am not all that affected. Before others… But mostly, before myself.

Another thing that gnaws me – when I allow it to - is the fact that he is not the first person to die doing my bidding. While we are handpicking, carefully prepping the missions of our Wings, some losses are unavoidable. And yet, somehow, they were more acceptable. When I did not have personal connection with them.

It is not fair to those nameless Wings that died in my service.

But I am no Fen, no Mythal, to perform miracles. And even they weren’t infallible; the current state of Thedas the best testament of that. It is time I remembered that. I have gotten arrogant, again.

With the thought of Fen, comes the overwhelming feeling of loneliness. And I realize just how much of myself I have to hide, and how tired I’ve grown of it all. The Wings have been a pleasant, friendly distraction, which I’ve appreciated… until now.

It is hard to admit, but I grew tired of it all. Of life. I am over three centuries – maybe even close to three and a half, I’ve lost track somewhere along the way – and during the last two, I have been mostly alone. I grew tired of this solitude.

And I have never learned this phlegmatic indifference the other Elvhen seemed to have naturally. Time bothers me. Losses bother me. Though, less and less. I am losing touch with my humanity.

I am just not ready to admit how cold-blooded I’ve become. Or how reckless, dismissive of the risk I face.

Even if I tried explaining it to someone, say, Valeria, there’s no way she could have understood. Some things, yes, but the solitary timelessness is beyond her, them. How does one explain centuries to a child of barely over twenty? In a way, she will always remain a child, for me. No, it is my burden to bear…

I know, I’ll have to learn to keep my self-destructive tendencies in check. And I hope Fen’ll wake up sometime soon. Preferably **before** I manage to get myself killed, while seeking adrenaline to forget my loneliness. Or I’ll die, in some extremely stupid way.

We successfully manage to evade pirates, and dock back in Seere, where a welcoming committee awaits me. Valeria had figured this would be the likeliest place of my return, and was awaiting me both impatiently and nervously. She couldn’t be certain that I had still lived, after all.

I am greeted with both words of reprimand, but also, immense relief, since she is glad to see me. I can’t say I do empathize with Valeria – poor child got quite a fright, and I know, I am important to her. She is, for me, as well, only… not enough to make me stay. To make me reconsider. In the end, I guess, the only one who could stop me was Fen. And he never really tried, back in the day. Never had to. We had similar outlook on things, and he agreed with me, always – even when he didn’t want to.

I always loved that about him, how well he understood me. And his mere presence balanced me, made me feel more in touch with reality.

The return forces me to pick up the mantle of a leader, and I stop pointlessly hiding away. The conclusions I’ve come to, about myself, are not ones I would care to share, nor are they ones I would allow to affect me. Now, that I became aware of them, I am making steps to ensure they do not interfere with my daily life.

To my surprise, I find Isabela among the ranks of Wings, even though Castillon’s pyre has burned a long time ago. She glares at me, challenging me to contest her presence here, but I merely shrug it off, indifferent. I have brought along with me over a hundred Qunari that need accommodation and assignments, what’s one thieving pirate in comparison?

And she fits in remarkably well, enough for me add her, soon, to the ranks of leadership. She is witty, quick and intelligent, a marvellous partner and backup for Nervlis. Valeria is annoyed with me after this decision, obviously jealous of the time the two of them spend together on the missions. I remind her sternly to keep business and pleasure separate, and that her talents lie in different direction than infiltration and spying. She remains sullen for a while longer, until Nervlis returns, and reassures her of his continued affections.

I can stop holding myself in check, and breathe deeply in relief. I was getting close to snapping at her for her unreasonable, and irritating, behaviour.

Four months after my broken return from Par Vollen, a price is posted for my head, from Ebareth’s report. Riv whistles softly, hearing that the Qunari will pay my weight in gold if I’m brought alive, and half of it, if dead.

‘What did you do, Quicksilver, to merit such attention?’

He glances at me with renewed respect. My lips tug slightly from amusement, but they revert back to the usual scowl soon enough. Valeria looks at me with worry in her eyes – I refused to talk about what happened on Seheron, and those that came with me are just as reluctant to share. Most of my former inmates are happy to put the camp experiences behind them, and Arissar mourns his leader, and is just as reluctant to talk.

Of course, the fact that I came aboard a stolen dreadnought with a bunch of ragged Qunari, told the story in generalities even without me relating the details.

The ship is another thing I have to deal  with – the Wings have no need of it, and keeping it around seems dangerous. The initial suggestion was to simply burn it, but that seemed too wasteful of a perfectly fine bargaining chip and a war tool. I contacted the Fleet Marshal of the Raiders of the Waking Sea, and offered it to him, free of charge.

The man in behind the desk plays with his impressive moustache, looking at me with apparent suspicion.

‘What’s the catch?’ He asks warily. I laugh, and say,

‘Merely that you stop holding Castillon's death against us.’ I shrug. The man in question was one of the financial supporters of the Raiders, and keeping our relationship positively neutral seems like a good deal for a bloody ship I do not want. ‘There was nothing personal in it, we simply had a bone of our own to pick with the man. Think of it as gesture of our… high esteem, if you will, as well as support of your war efforts.’

He nods seriously, and the deal is sealed. Not that I worried about it – no man in his right mind would renounce such a gift. Especially at as low a cost as my offer entailed.

At first, I disregard the price over my head, and go about the business as usual. The Qunari agents, however, prove frighteningly persistent in their attempts after my life. Soon, I feel a budding irritation, which grows into a constant headache when my fellow Wings demand I walk around with a guard, or preferably, not at all. I ridicule the last suggestion thoroughly, narrowing my eyes. The dangerous glint warns them against mentioning it again, but they force the issue of guards on me.

I try to tolerate the two bumbling children they send after me as an inept protection detail. Unfortunately, while I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, two additional people to worry about are beyond my abilities. And the poor sods get replaced, after getting landed on surgeon beds, after their attempt to cover me ended up with **me** covering for **them**. To my utter frustration.

In fact, one of them barely lived.

I try to use this situation to get rid of them altogether, but unfortunately, my arguments fall on deaf ears. When I reach to my authority, and say that I’m the one running things around here, Valeria waves in front of me my own decree which put her in charge. She says sweetly that I’ve never rescinded that, and technically, as long as I do not, she is the nominal leader.

Grumbling, annoyed, I immediately deal with the offending decree. But this does not bring any further solutions, since, reluctantly, I agree with them about the danger. And regardless of the thrill it brings, how it makes my blood flow faster, I am unwilling to throw my life away without meaning. Or, at least, I remind myself not to.

So we find an acceptable compromise, and thus, Fea is created.

My new alter ego is a scout, and in general, a lone wolf who likes long excursions in the wilds. I am very careful while crafting this identity, going as far as ordering some of the mages in Wings to go and pretend to be Quicksilver in some of the flashier actions. Thus, a clear distinction is made between us, because Fea is not a mage.

The one concession I make before myself, and my vanity, is that I do not cut my silver hair, but instead, opt to wear a wig. More risky, I know, but I am offended by the situation enough without adding additional injury to the insult.

It goes off remarkably well. Nervlis spends a while, but when he is done, Fea’s background is fabricated perfectly. I place her – myself – high up in Wings hierarchy, without defined boundaries, in order to explain my presence in all of the strategic places and meetings.

People tend to remember those they see rarely by their characteristic features, and by blurring them in Fea – wearing different outfits, covering my face with a hood, and skulking around – even those that worked with me before are fooled. It is much harder to hold back from issuing direct orders, but in practice I retain all of my authority. I merely delegate tasks more and more often.

Being Fea gives me an unbelievable sense of freedom. I can begin travelling again without being accosted, and I can mingle with the lower-ranking Wings without them snapping in salutes, or falling down in graceful yet detested by me, bow of theirs. I use Quicksilver’s authority to arrange things which allow me to remain away from the base for months, and begin enjoying myself, and life, again.

I didn’t even know how much being forced to remain behind the desk, constantly, separated from real action and real people and real events, chafed, until I rid of it. Papers and reports do hardly any justice to the vivid life out beyond enclosed walls, and I begin to wonder if I am a suitable leader at all. But then I remind myself that plenty of others had also preferred the hands-on style of leading, appeasing my guilty conscience at pushing all the paperwork on Valeria, Fiona and Ryanth.

I guess it **would** have been considerably safer if I had pretended to be one of the lower ranking members of Wings. But realistically, I know I would never be able to pull it off. I have been in position of power far too long to be able to fit into the humble, uncertain of yourself, mould. It would shine through, my pride, my certainty of self, my competence. So I do not take the risk of being called on that.

Arissar begins sharing Ebareth’s duties in regards to our spying on the Qun, going as far as extending the network to reach Par Vollen. I am not informed of the details how, precisely, did he manage that, nor am I all that keen on knowing them. I could, if I asked, but I don’t.

Freeing up Ebareth’s time becomes especially important once we realise that Esme is pregnant. The future parents are both elated, and a touch apprehensive, since the Halfling child of this union was unheard of, before. The Wings go out of their way to arrange the best care for the female, who scoffs and ridicules the fuss, but privately, I am certain of it, is glad.

First major rift appears in my and Valeria’s relationship, the moment Templar-Mage conflict begins.

It starts off in Kirkwall, to my utter lack of surprise. The Qunari **did** stay there for years, and, from Valotaars’ words, left many agents behind. Adding to it Meredith’s progressing madness, it made for an extremely volatile substance. Little wonder it finally blew up.

The Knight-Captain managed to prevent Hawke from becoming the Viscount, and hoarded power for herself. I was quite disappointed when Elthina allowed it to happen – not only I thought better of her, but also, I thought that she had learned something from Petrice’s example. Apparently, I was mistaken in that regard.

The mages were becoming more and more restless throughout the years, and when finally, one fanatic – and I’ll forever wonder if Justice was not influenced by one of agents of the Qun with his doomed, mad, endeavour – decided it was time to shake things up. And so he did. By blowing up the damned Chantry while Elthina and many acolites were in the middle of a mass.

I know how he explained his motivations to others – I made it my business to know. And I swore under my nose, irritated, because I had **warned** Hawke about them. To me, all of his excuses sounded like rubbish, or ramblings of a madman. Whom he, they, undoubtedly became during those past few years.

Hawke had cut him down for the betrayal, but of course, it was too little too late. Meredith had decided that the only solution was a purge, and obviously, the mages weren’t keen on being purged. Whatever that meant. Obviously, Champion of Kirkwall was not about to abandon his only sibling to the Templars, and joined mages during battle. Only to be, ostentatiously, betrayed by First Enchanter Orsino. Or that’s how the tale goes.

What stories do not tell, is the fact that Orsino reached to blood magic to cover for the fact how few of the Circle mages actually took part in the ordeal. He was shielding for their escape, in fact, as did Hawke’s companions. It is always about striking some bargain with demons, and Orsino managed to save most of the mages from his circle.  Unfortunately, in his desperation, he went a step too far, and once his goal – his deal – with the demon was accomplished, he paid the price.

And so, people talk of his betrayal of his fellow defenders, not aware that it was not Orsino, not anymore. He had called up a powerful demon, too powerful for him to subjugate, and with the bargain fulfilled, he was consumed. And I firmly believe he was aware of the consequences; that he made his choice, the only choice, and preserved what he could.

Truthfully, I applaud his bravery, and sacrifice, for the sake of his subjects. Even though he had come to this point far too late, and if he had made the decision years before, without being pushed by the circumstances, it wouldn’t have been necessary.

Most of the mages from Kirkwall find their place among the Wings, at Tasha’s insistence to help them. Not that I am all that against it, but the decision is taken from me. I was away, in Rivain, discussing our latest intelligence regarding the Qunari with the Raiders, when it all happened. Before I return to Minrathous, everything is long settled.

Following the Kirkwall tragedy, Hawke’s sister, Bethany, also comes to the Empire, accompanied by Ghost himself, arrives in Tevinter, and finds her way to Minrathous. I am reluctant to allow them involve themselves with Wings, for many reasons, but one in particular – they are way too fucking flashy. They garner attention, and Wings had already seen plenty of spotlight, in recent months. First, my Kirkwall-Par Vollen stunt, then, the arrival and incorporation of the Qunari, and lately, shielding the Kirkwall mages from Templar retribution.

They earn their way into our ranks on their own; unfortunately proving their capabilities beyond doubt. I guess Bethany was feeling uneasy, away from her fellows, and that was motivation enough. And Hawke had entrusted his younger sister into Ghost’s hands, before disappearing.

I can sympathize with his decision. Life of a fugitive is not one would like to take his younger siblings for. He is, currently, one of the few people on Thedas with a higher bounty on his head than myself. Surprisingly, without the ‘dead or alive’ part – Chantry looks for him, that much is true, but only with the ‘alive’ part. I must say, I am jealous, because Qunari are not quite as kind.

Riv leads the two of them before me, when I am playing Quicksilver, one day, and I sigh with resignation, giving into the inevitable. While I wanted them away from the organization, now that they are here, I will not turn down the two very motivated people.

Ghost’s eyes flash in recognition, as the two of them introduce themselves.

‘I have heard so much about you! I’m Bethany, but you might know me as Hawke’s sister.’ There’s no bitterness in these words, shockingly, the girl is mature enough to accept the situation as it stands. Her wide smile and energy immediately raise my defences, and fighting down a groan, I decide to keep her as far away from me as possible, assign her permanently to Tasha’s side, perhaps. I would not be able to withstand such boundless optimism, which seems to be radiating from her, on a daily basis.

‘Fenris.’ Grunts the white-haired elf beside her, and I turn to evaluate my former adversary. He had grown, quite a bit, but from the covert, uneasy glances, I can see that years of slavery are not quite beyond him.

‘Welcome, Bethany, Ghostie, to the Wings. I am sure you have met this woman, she will show you the ropes, and assign you your tasks.’ I say, just as the doors swing open.

‘You called,  Quick…’ Isabella is interrupted by a happy squeal from Bethany, which has me wincing. The female mage rushes to greet her acquaintance, and for a moment, I can see a warm smile on pirate’s face, before it clears into an all-suffering grimace.

‘I have a name.’ Fenris, on the other hand, ignores the arrival, and glares at me menacingly.

I can feel a rush of adrenaline in my head, as I walk out from behind the desk, and stare him down.

‘I already have one wolf in my life, and he is a handful enough already.’ My eyes narrow. ‘Will we have a problem, Ghost?’ I allow my aura to sharpen, and a bluish glow to flicker on my fingers, provocatively. I know, I’ve heard, of his profound distrust of mages.

For a moment, I think he might challenge me, but he turns his eyes away, and the moment of tension passes.

I can feel some disappointment at that, since I haven’t had a good sparring partner in a while.

In the following weeks, however, it dissipates, as he lets me goad himself into one bout after another, and it is just as exhilarating as I expected. He has gained a lot of experience, since our meeting, has learned how to use his powers to the best. And he is just as bad of a matchup against me as ever, with his lyrium magic resistance which forces me to use more of my mana than typically, with his fucking unbelievable endurance, and the way in which he uses lyrium to speed himself up to keep up with me.

For the first time since the days when I’ve trained with Shartan, I experience defeat. It is strange, and for a moment, I do not recognise the feeling of frustration after a fair loss, when I gave it my all and still came up short. But it is highly motivating, and for a while, I put off my wanderings as Fea, deciding to remain in Minrathous for a while longer, and train some more.

With a touch of horror, I realize that Arissar and Bethany had taken to one another, and are currently circling each other in an awkward courtship dance. A bit nauseous, I wonder what will be Hawke’s reaction once he learns his little sister hooked up with a Qunari. I hope, fervently, to be far, far away from him, once it happens. The man’s protective streak when it comes to her is legendary…

Regardless of the easy-going way in which we lead our lives in Tevinter, events started in Kirkwall echo far and wide, and mage uprising begins in all the rest of Thedas. I can only thank the Creators for my premonition which had me traipsing to Kirkwall years ago, because, I have no doubt, Qunari would have used this opportunity flawlessly. The crippling of their fleet has, at least, put it off for a few years.

This is when I have a major disagreement with Valeria. She urges for Wings’ involvement in the war – obviously, on the side of mages – while I am decidedly against it. I have always believed the mages could have pushed for their rights beforehand, and I refuse to involve myself, even marginally, in something which was ultimately a result of a skilful manipulation. I remind her that Wings have their hands full assisting slaves, and observing Qunari, and no resources to spare. Even if we did, what would she say to Ryanth? It’s not like Templar leaders are entirely in the wrong, even if personally, I hate the order.

My arguments fail to reach her, and I am forced to use one I hate, the: I am a leader, so back down. Not particularly diplomatic, nor tactful resolution, and I lament at my inability to resolve it in a different way. I mean, I was so fucking outspoken when I was convincing Valotaar, and now, I am unable to have a proper talk with my daughter?!

A bit anxiously, I talk with Nervlis about it, afterwards. 

‘Do not blame yourself, Quicksilver.’ He reassures me calmly. ‘Valeria has never been very reasonable about the Circle-related issues. She admitted once, that she has always imagined what it would be like if you were to be captured by the Templars, and never met her in the first place. Now that their policies grew more strict, she is even more unsettled by it all.’ He shrugs neutrally, without judgement, and I sigh, with more understanding.

Still, I do not like this silence that stretches between us ever since. Finally, I convince myself that some distance would help us both, and take off as Fea, leaving Valeria in charge.

It is a sign that in spite of our differences, I still trust her.

Hopefully, by the time I’m back, she will get over it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhat deceptive title, since Fean'Na is not in mourning, in fact. Or, not too much. Well, next chapter places us in the Inquisition times. Predictions? Love? Hate?
> 
> I love you all, thank you for all the comments. Please, keep writing them, they're highly motivating, as ever.


	31. Wandering Pride

**Wandering Pride**

There are a few more things requiring my attention, before I am free to leave Minrathous. Firstly, Ryanth had requested a moment of my time. It’s got me curious, since he has rarely ever done so in the past. It is all atypically, bizarrely formal, for him.

It takes an awfully long and convoluted explanation before Ryanth gets to the bottom of his plea, but when he finally does, I am stupefied.

‘You are talking about Templar deserters.’ Disbelief rings in my voice.  Ryanth shuffles nervously, nodding in confirmation. ‘Templar deserters, who had left because they did **not** want to kill mages.’

‘You do not have to sound so incredulous.’ He mutters, clearly a bit offended. ‘Such people do exist, you know, present company included.’

‘Yes, yes, I know, it’s just…’ I never considered it possible to see more of them. Especially this many more. I run a hand over my face, trying to get a hold on my randomly flaying thoughts.

‘You have decided to not take sides in this war.’ He reminds me defensively. For a moment, it flashes through my mind that he had clearly expected me to chew him out for even suggesting as much.

I incline my head in agreement instead, evaluating the situation. Finally, taking a deep breath, I say.

‘Well, test them in controlled conditions; whether they really **can** work with the mages we have been shielding. If your words prove true, then…’ a helpless shrug, ‘I do not see any reason to not allow them in.’

Ryanth smiles with gratitude and no small amount of relief, bowing, and leaving me preoccupied with worry.

Creators, this is going to fly so well with Valeria, I cringe at the very thought of the upcoming explanations. She has gotten even more prejudiced against the Order, ever since the mages from Kirkwall have begun speaking of their experiences with Meredith. It seems that even since Tasha had left, things have been going steadily downhill, until it was so bad they could barely take a deeper breath in the Gallows without being accused of one treachery or another.

Valeria is so fucking young, and so fucking blind, at times. Barely having seen any of the world, barely out of the nest. She put her years of slavery almost completely behind her; there are days I am jealous of it. And then there are days when I wonder if it was a good thing, that she has forgotten most of these hardships. It makes her much less understanding towards the plight and misfortune of others than she otherwise would be.

Or at least, that’s what happened in the case of others – Nervlis and Esme are one of the most tolerant people I’ve met on Thedas. Aside from their attitude towards the slavers. But on this, we easily agree.

Then again, I do not think Valeria will ever mature enough for me to stop treating her like a child. I mean, after three centuries, all of those mortals surrounding me seem like children, at times.

Of course, I bet Fen would say I have my own fair share of growing up to do, as well. It all depends on the perspective, after all.

Maybe, just maybe, I can leave before Valeria finds out about it, spare me another shouting match with her. It is a bit juvenile behaviour, on my part, but I grew tired of these arguments with her. I try to respect her opinions, but there are days when a frustrated scream rises in my throat. She just refuses to listen.

When she is presented with a fait accompli, Valeria will be simply forced to accommodate my wishes.

Ebareth also catches me right before my departure, and tells me they found Hissrad. Iron Bull, the leader of Bull’s Chargers, a mercenary company which was created a few years back. I look over the report concerning him, and grimace with distaste. The list of operations he was involved, or allegedly involved, in, is long and sinister. Assassinations, take-overs, shakedowns… And with a disturbingly high success rate, too. I can see why Valotaar called him Qun’s best agent. And this is the man whom he had asked me to spare…

With a shake of my head, I put the papers away. My Qunari spymaster is to post a regular watch over the Chargers, and keep me appraised of any developments. They might be dangerous, but if Wings control the situation, an outright conflict can be avoided.

Most likely. As long as the Chargers do not try to tackle the bounty on my head.

Mindful of the danger, I take Fenris with me. He is a decent partner, complimenting and covering for my weaknesses half-decently. Although it is made clear during first few encounters that Ghost is used to different group mechanics, rather than fighting as a pair. From what I saw, Hawke preferred to travel as a quartet, so it isn’t all that strange.

Even though I am travelling as Fea, it is in official capacity, this time; and, considering the reason, I wouldn’t be surprised if Qunari agents attacked, should they get wind of it. I do not want my contact from the Merchant’s Guild to end up dead. And I was reminded not long ago, rather strongly, that I am incapable of both serving as a guard, and protecting myself.

The whole issue revolves around the fact my people were unable to counteract saar-gamek, the poisonous gas Qunari had used to flesh out the dissidents in Kirkwall. While we have managed to uncover it’s devilishly hard to transport, and quickly loses potency, it remains quite a danger. Potentially, privately, I think it is much more dangerous than their treasured gaatlok.

Unquestionably, gaatlok has much more destructive potential. But. Gaatlok is far less likely to cause panic. People understand explosions. With mages around, it is hard not to see one, every once in a while. The Children of the Stone also use similar substances, frequently, and their formula is no secret at all. Of course, since it contains lyrium, dwarves are the only ones’ capable of working with it, in practice. But, if one did not mind considerable losses amongst the workers, theoretically, anyone could produce it. And, for a price, dwarves sell it themselves.

So. Explosions are easy to comprehend. Commonplace, almost. Madness, induced by a green vapour, overtaking most people’s minds, is not. I cringe at the possibility of saar-gamek being released at, say, Satinalia. The disastrous consequences, and fear it would put in the hearts of people, would take years to get over.

Fortunately, at times, Qunari tend to mistake flashy with effective. I do not know what causes it – I guess, psychological differences, maybe? Maybe they measure themselves against others, while making these decisions; and for them, they would have feared being blown to pieces more than losing their mind?

Even if agents of the Qun are currently underestimating the biological weapon at their disposal, there’s no guarantee they will continue doing so indefinitely. And, should their approach change, Thedas needs to be prepared.

I meet with the genius inventor of the Merchant’s Guild, Bianca, in their headquarters in Antiva. As it happens, the Qunari agents either disregard, or are uninformed, of our meeting, so while the Ghost freezes his body in the cold corridor outside, perched as a lookout, me and the dwarven female allow ourselves some indulgence. Once the business matters have been discussed, we reach to the well-stocked bar in her rooms, and spend the night sharing parts of ourselves under the influence.

And what two females who barely know each other can talk about, if not their love lives. Or, in my case, a profound lack of one, with a morbid touch of tragedy mixed in.

Something compels me to honesty, or at least, more honesty than usually. Whether it’s circumstances, or alcohol, or maybe simply Bianca with her easy, yet wearied, smile. I cannot say. Maybe all those combined.

People consider her mostly as a smith, but Bianca is much more than that. Really, she is a genius, with vast interests spanning across several subjects, from machinery, through alchemy, up to rune crafting and rune drawing. And she is very good, brilliant, at whatever it is that she touches.

But on the more personal side, Bianca is an old soul, hiding her old hurt beneath the cheerfulness and workload. She keeps going, until she is ready to fall from exhaustion, until the hurt mixes in with tiredness so well she can’t differentiate one from another.

Bianca and I made similar choices, during our lifetimes, both of us discarding our loved ones for the so called ‘greater good’. Their safety. Our safety.

Both of us paid for it dearly. Yet, neither of us would have changed her decision, even if we were given a chance at a rewind. She and I share a common ground which, for example, Tasha wouldn’t be able to comprehend, because her choice was the exact opposite of ours.

We are obscurely vague while describing our circumstances, but somehow, we understand one another. To a degree, of course, because I can’t imagine being born to certain duties, facing certain expectations, nor being the first of the Surface Caste dwarves to be nominated as a Paragon. To be perfectly honest, I am uncertain what a Paragon even means, to the Children of the Stone – more respected than a King, yet somehow, not a ruler. Bianca tries to explain. I am even more lost after it, than I was before, with a distinct impression that we were going around the idea in circles, without ever getting to the heart of the matter.

The amount of alcohol consumed might have had something to do with it.

It goes both ways, the things she can’t comprehend about me are just as numerable, if not more – only I don’t even attempt to clarify. How does it feel to see the fall of one civilization, and a dying, barely drawing breath remains of another. How does it feel to know, one played a role in both of these collapses; a role which I am not proud of, yet cannot deny.

However, the night in general is spent quite pleasantly, and I wake up feeling at least partially unburdened, my soul lighter. Cheerful, almost, in spite of the raging headache. Fenris, on the other hand, is decisively grumpy, overwrought after a sleepless night of watching our backs. With some compassion, I grab the reins of his horse, when he falls asleep astride.

Even if he recognizes that we are calling it a day earlier than usual, he never says a word.

The Golden Horseshoe inn is near four borders, and an obligatory stop for me. One of the larger establishments on Thedas, and a major information hub, because of all the merchants who come here, bearing news from Tevinter, Nevarra, Three Marches and Antiva. My Wings have been trying to get a hold on it for years, already, but the owner proved to be annoyingly uncooperative. Most likely, he earns enormous bribes from all of the spies who pay him for repeating what he had heard.

Fortunately, a few years back, his son remarried, and his wife is one of a former slaves, freed by the Wings. While the woman wants nothing to do with the Game personally, she allows quite a few Wings’ members to work here, under the guise of barmaids and servants.

In our rooms, I take their reports, and skim through them with a frown.

Divine Justinia has called for a Conclave, with an intent to negotiate peace between the warrying parties. For now, she has managed to convince them to announce a ceasefire, at least for as long as these talks are going to last.

Personally, I believe Chantry’s intervention was called for **years** before now, but at least, finally, they are doing something. However, what sort of effect will it have on the balance of power? That’s hard to judge.

Running a finger over the words on the parchment, and committing them to memory, I bite my lip. This definitely requires further investigation. Especially since, I’ll bet, Valeria would call for our involvement in the mess. As if we didn’t have enough to deal with. And while there will be, most likely, some of the Wings’ members on the assembly, simply because they are following their highly important masters, I believe that in this case, a more personal intervention is necessary.

‘I think, my Ghost, you’ll have to make the journey back home on your own.’ I muse out loud, and Fenris, who was polishing his greatsword in the corner, stills.

‘And why would you send your bodyguard away?’ He wonders, a touch of bite behind the words. Obviously, he doesn’t approve.

‘Because you can’t blend in to save your life.’ I reply evenly, and he throws me a cross glance.

Well, if Fenris can’t get over my decision, that’s his problem.

I spend the evening writing up reports from our journey thus far to be delivered and archived at Minrathous, while the white-haired male broods, with crossed arms and almost petulant look, positively **oozing** displeasure. Regardless of it, I send him away in the morning, with a pat on the back, and ironic smile.

Fea is a brilliant persona at blending in, as I use a bit of makeup and simple dirt to cover my too white of a skin, and too delicate hands, for a lower class person. Then it’s all about too large clothes made from unpleasantly harsh material, and the wig, which I have always at hand; and here I am – could pass for a human, really, if one didn’t take a closer look. Large hood, to shadow my eyes and feminine features, and I am good to go.

The journey southward is swift, and I easily avoid any perils. A single rider doesn’t attract bandit attention, taken as a messenger, usually – and killing or robbing those is simply bad for business, inviting a quick and deadly retaliation from their lords and masters. Not to mention, there’s little to be robbed from a messenger in the first place. The war is at a ceasefire, so even when I pass armed groups of either side, aside from evil glares, there’s little else I experience from them.

The hills of the Free Marches change into plains of Orlais, transform into lush forests of former Dales, and then, into breath-taking Frostback Mountains on the border with Ferelden. This is where my tempo slows down, because the roads aren’t easy for horses to travel on, loose stones slipping out from under my mount’s hooves. Even with my considerable riding experience, it is much safer to simply walk beside her, especially since I do not want to risk losing my lovely Galant. She is a reliable steed, and furthermore, replacing her in the midst of the Conclave’s chaos would be nigh impossible.

It does give me ample opportunity to observe the beauty of the world surrounding me. The sharp edges and deadly chasms, and the unforgiving harshness of the mountains. The blinding white of snow, and the knife-like spires spiking upwards. They remain as they ever were, barely touched by the passage of time, uncaring of the changes in the reality around them. They remain as I remember them from when I had been wandering Thedas freely, with Fen, unbothered, and safe, and suddenly, I feel a touch of nostalgia, reminded of those blissful and serene times.

The trail under my feet is worn and old, rarely used. Patches of withered grass, here and there, sticking out from beneath the stone. Bushes, on the sides, overgrown and plentiful – until I reach higher altitudes, where they lack necessary nutrition. Unforgiving wind had amassed additional rubble on the path, making me, or my horse, stumble, every so often.

It is a very telling sign how the Chantry and its policies changed, that this pilgrimage route has fallen this far in disrepair, unmaintained. It used to be the most revered place, center of the cult, and yet now, the Sacred Ashes are treated as a myth, by most. The Temple itself was rediscovered during the Blight, eleven years ago.

Ha. Rediscovered. I feel a fierce satisfaction, that this tool of Maker’s, which he used to spread his influence, had been lost. How, on the other hand, is an interesting question to consider. How has it been lost, and how has it been found again. And why. Always why.

The cold here forces me to reach to my aura, and warm it around me, putting a constant drain on my mana. Previously, I didn’t feel this strain, reaching to the magic around me. I look to the blue, blue sky, and swallow my frustration. It is pretty, beautiful even, clear and clean. But for me, it’s missing one essential tint, this shade of green I grew to love.

That’s why I rarely ever look up. 

I settle in a cave, fair distance away from the town, hiding in the forests on the outskirts, only once in a while venturing into Haven for some additional supplies. There are many visitors in this small town, and it’s quite obvious the natives are overwhelmed by this invasion. What’s their plight, for me, becomes a blessing, making it extremely easy to slip in and out without attracting much notice.

I soon approach the Temple of Sacred Ashes, where the meeting is taking place. It is a massive building, a glorious creation of the Advar who turned to the faith of Maker – or so goes the story. I’ve heard of it being built, and of the miraculous qualities of the Ashes themselves, back from the faraway Tevinter, but I’ve never felt any urge to see it for my own eyes. Now, that I look at it, I feel a bit of regret at my past stubbornness. How magnificent this place must have been right after its creation. Even now, it remains monumental in its splendour, a testament of how humans could achieve greatness easily comparable to that of the Elvhenan of old.

The sculptures and masterful, high architecture are beyond the current people, so afraid, and restricted, in their use of magic. I can see these touches in the archways and high windows, where the delicate green tint remains, where the Fade has bent reality. In the columns of strange material, polished and of exactly even size. I wonder if they used blood magic, to achieve the necessary power level in this Fade forsaken world. It is highly likely. Curious, what the current residents would think, if they realized the structure was built thanks to the thing they so abhor, and renounce.

The very first thing that catches my attention is how poor security is around the temple. Really, for a gathering that’s hosting hostile forces, with the most important Chantry’s official in attendance, one would expect supreme forces, keeping watch over it. And yet, I can easily sneak in and out whenever I wish, perch myself atop balconies, listen to the talks. Walk the halls undisturbed, shielded by the shadows, or pretend to be one of the servants, mingle in. With so many newcomers, they have no grasp who exactly is supposed to be here, who can, or can’t, come in. Ludicrous.

Another rather suspicious matter is the lack of Divine’s most trusted advisors, both the so-called Right, and Left, hand. From the word spreading around, they have been sent away, doing Justinia’s bidding. Only, without these very talented females, she appears to be both blind, and deaf, to her surroundings. I cannot, for the love of Creators, figure out the reasoning behind this particular decision. She is exposing herself to the danger, risking her mission.

The Conclave itself is going rather poorly, if not being an outright disaster. Justinia failed to convince the leaders of the warring sides to come personally, and only emissaries were sent. They do not have any actual decision power, nor do they intend on actually achieving anything; numerous threats and insults thrown and hurled around pointlessly. The Divine intercedes, preaches from her presiding position meaningless platitudes without any specific suggestions following them, and they pretend to politely listen to her, before returning to their previous litany of accusations. And the circle closes.

By the end of the week, I am convinced that nothing will be changed by this presidium. Mages and Templars are buying time, by pretending to take part in it, whilst avoiding antagonising society any more by outright denying the Chantry. It is hard to say which side is gaining more by this forced ceasefire, but I am certain that when the war resumes in earnest, it will be quite explosive.

There’s little else for me here, my task accomplished to my satisfaction, but my damnable curiosity has me sticking around for a while longer. I observe the woman, Divine, closely, shadowing her for a few days, trying to figure out what makes her tick.

Undoubtedly, Justinia is extremely devoted, truly faithful to the Maker. Well, she is human, so maybe she **can** truly feel his guidance. I wouldn’t know.

She isn’t quite so bad of an orator, even if the words she speaks seem rather uninspiring. I guess it is because she has no solutions to offer, and whether it is because there are none to be had, or because they refuse to listen, it’s matters little. She doesn’t have Andraste’s charisma, her ability to awaken and convert faithful with her mere words.

In spite of the apparent failure of her initiative, she seems far from defeated. It catches my interest, because I cannot comprehend where does she get this unshakeable certainty from. And why. The Conclave is a definite fiasco. And yet.

Finally, unable to help myself, I use a moment of her solitude, to approach Divine in her office. Surprisingly, seeing me step out of the shadows, she remains completely unruffled.

‘Are you here to kill me?’ Justinia asks dispassionately.

‘So, you **are** aware of the danger.’ I state calmly, jumping up, and perching myself on the high windowsill. I take a deep breath of cold air of the night. One of my legs swings leisurely on the side, as I circle my hands around the bent knee of the other, and regard the Chantry’s current leader. She calmly puts away her book, and rewards me with the same, blatant interest shining in her eyes.

‘Who are you, if not an assassin?’

I see no reason to lie.

‘You might have heard of Wings’ Quicksilver.’

Recognition sparks on her face, and Justinia nods, sedately.

‘It seems I owe my gratitude to you, and your Wings.’

I raise my eyebrow at that, in silent question.

‘You have been doing what Chantry was supposed to do, and failed; providing refuge for all those who wish to disengage themselves from the conflict.’

‘If you know you have failed, then why aren’t you doing **more**?’ I let my accusation be felt in the words. And my frustration. Words are fine, and pretty, but they do not change anything. Actions do. And there were remarkably few of those, on the side of the Chantry.

‘Because I am unable to.’ She replies with bitterness.

‘And this whole farce with the Conclave is supposed to help… how exactly?’

She doesn’t answer, just looks at me impassively, and I rummage through my head, trying to connect the dots, feeling the answer within my reach.

The Conclave is going nowhere, and yet she persists. Obviously, she is quite aware of the lacklustre security. More, she had sent her most trusted people away, as if inviting danger. She had expected me to be assassin… Wait a moment, stop. She had fucking **expected** an assassin.

Startled by the realization, I make a sudden movement which makes me fall down from my high perch. With a pained grunt, I land as cleanly as possible, reminded by a sharp flare in my leg that I really should avoid acrobatics of this kind. I lift my head, and look at her with widened eyes.

‘You are insane.’

‘And you are a very bright, young person.’ Says Justinia. I refrain from correcting her mistaken judgement in regards to my age, listening to her continue. ‘Do you know, why I was chosen for the seat of the Divine?’ And she answers her own question, before I can interject. ‘Because other Grand Clerics believed me to be the most gullible, easiest to manipulate. They did not choose me because of their high regard, but simply because it was preferable to letting a powerful rival getting the power, or allowing it to remain unclaimed for a prolonged period of time.’

I think on her words, and believe them to be quite possible. While the woman was beloved, considered near holy among her following, the very same qualities – her legendary kindness and empathy - would make her seem an easy prey to the unscrupulous officials. Yes, this does seem likely.

‘Years of unquestionable power influencing Thedas have made the system and people involved in it morally corrupt. The higher in the ranks of the clergy, the less truly devoted people, and more **politicians**.’ She spits the word like a curse. ‘Playing it all like a Game, treating it like a large chess board. We are supposed to be above it, we are supposed to serve Maker and his people first and foremost! Instead, they spend the time indulging their thirst for influence, wealth and Maker knows what else. The things I uncovered during my years as the Divine…’ She shudders in disgust, pausing for a moment in her diatribe.

‘It took me years to get where I am now, to find and assemble people necessary to make the change. I’ve gathered, and prepared, almost all of the tools. But I am unable to make it all happen.’ She takes a deep breath. ‘For this change to happen, a major shift in mind-set is necessary. In perspective and perception of the people. Chantry needs to be cleansed with blood, purified in fire, or it will fall apart.’ She looks at me fervently. ‘And it needs a sacrifice, a symbol to pursue, strive towards. I’ll become that symbol.’

I shake my head, terrified, envisioning her words. Justinia is talking about a fucking Holy War, and if it does happen the way she envisions it, it will be by no means a peaceful thing. I can see rivers of blood, flowing in Thedas again, and I ask myself, hysterically, if all of Maker’s best people have to be fanatical in their own right.

‘Why are you telling me all this?’ It has been nagging me for a while. She snaps out of her reverie, and smiles at me, wearily.

‘Because I’ll need your Wings to continue doing what you have been doing so far, ever since this Mage-Templar war had begun...’ She hesitates for a moment, finally adding. ‘And because I wanted someone to know the truth, before I am painted a martyr without flaws. That in reality, I was simply a tired, powerless, weak woman.’

‘I can’t decide whether you are ingenious, or simply mad.’ I muse out loud, my pulse speeding up from deadly intent, rising in my blood. I’ve never considered myself bloodthirsty, merely ruthless, but in this case… In this case I might make an exception.

‘Can’t I be both?’ Justinia smiles genially, and the urge to hit her is nearly overwhelming. But I can’t disagree, she certainly has a point. There is no great genius without some touch of madness. And unfortunately, it’s not like I can deny that it all has a decent likelihood of success. From what I’ve heard of her people, they are all frighteningly competent. And nothing like a little bit of fear to remind people of God’s existence… But does it really have to be this way? A bloody fucking purge, dragging all of Thedas along into chaos?

‘I still think you are shirking from your duties.’

‘Possibly.’ The woman in front of me allows. ‘So, how will it be, Wings’ Leader? Will you be the knife plunging into the heart of Thedas?’

Oh, how I want to. My blood boils with fury and anger, when I look at her. This woman is going to start another Holy War to wreck Thedas, without, I’m sure, any deeper understanding on what precisely this entails. She was born in peace, lived her years in peace.

I have walked neck deep in blood. I saw two world-shattering wars. If a third one is to come anyway, why not by my hand? At least I would get some satisfaction out of it.

Yet, maybe, just maybe, her plans will get derailed, by some lucky, miraculous coincidence of fate.

And because, however unlikely, however slim, but this chance exists, I still my magic, singing the deadly song in my ears. And as my heartbeat slows, and my internal music quietens, I cast one final glance at her.

‘Neither me, nor mine, will have anything to do with your schemes.’ On this note, I turn around, and slip away into the shadows.

Only people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do.

But oftentimes, they forget, dismiss, overlook, the cost paid in blood for their revolutions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haven’t you wondered, how is it possible that all these people slipped past Justinia’s security so easily, and how come both Leliana and Cassandra were, miraculously, fortuitously, away, during the disaster? This chapter is inspired by my musings on the why, if we disregard plain incompetence. 
> 
> I am really sorry, I truly intended for the Inquisition to properly begin in this chapter, but all these things I wanted to mention just… run away from me, grew in my hands. I should have next one done this weekend. Fingers crossed.
> 
> Dear Fiesk, truth to be told, I do not think there will be much of earth-shattering development with Fean’Na. A few things to make her grow a bit more, but in general, I see her as a mostly developed character. Cynical, negative and a bit pessimistic, a touch arrogant, and incredibly prideful. Caring, at times, for those she likes, but otherwise, more on the cold-blooded side. She had three centuries to grow up, and while she will continue to change, I am afraid these won’t be very big changes – aside from one, maybe. I remain undecided. Sorry to disappoint you, if you expected anything along these lines.


	32. Arbitrary Pride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder: my estimated Inquisition timeline is around 8 years, and not 2, like it is according to Wiki.

**Arbitrary Pride**

When I allow myself to forget, for a moment, the way in which Justinia intends to deal with everything, I can sympathize with her. She is a woman of clear beliefs and unshakeable devotion, a true leader seeing the problem within her organization, and addressing it. Sacrificing herself, no less, for good of the Chantry’s followers.

But then, I remember what it will mean, how precisely she intends to do it, and all of my sympathy vanishes. If the Chantry is as corroded as she believes, let it disappear from the pages of history. Let it fall on its own terms, rather than force the change.

Of course, the fact that I do not worship Maker makes my outlook much different from Justinia's. I do not give a fuck about her organization's disarray, or the downward spiral with which it is plummeting to the ground. What I care about is how it all will affect me, and those dependant on me.

I recall all of the Wings from Haven and the Temple. I reach out to each and every one personally, and warn them that if they fail to leave soon, they might get caught up in some very unpleasant situation. Some are a bit reluctant to abandon their employers, but my orders do not leave them any room to argue. I want them gone. Now.

Once Justinia dies, her people will be desperately looking for answers. Everyone will be questioned, everyone will be checked; and, considering the human nature, a premature, false accusations will be thrown right and left.

I’ll be damned if I let my people suffer because of Divine’s scheming. There will be no thread to connect her death with Wings, nor will any Wing member be forced to endure interrogations.

Finally, I also leave the place, as if chased by demons.

I reach Minrathous in express time. On my arrival, Valeria, of course, raises up the issue of sending one of us to observe – maybe even try to influence - the Conclave. To say I am unimpressed by the suggestion would be a vast understatement.

‘I want us to stay as far away from the Chantry as possible.’ I state firmly in response.

‘Quicksilver. While you were traipsing about the countryside, we had a real world to deal with, here. Disciplinary problems are beginning. It would be in our best interest, if all this was all over as soon and possible, so we could send away the damned Templars.’

Her words hang in the air, and other Wings in the room tense. My own body stiffens from outrage. Did Valeria just suggest I was evading, neglecting, my duties?

She most certainly did.

Under my frosty glare, she shuffles a bit, realizing that this time, she might have gone too far. Still, she raises her chin, and meets my eyes unflinchingly, clearly without any intention to rescind her accusations.

Very well. If that’s how you want to play it, so be it. I am done sparing your feelings, oh daughter of mine, and I am done suffering your insubordination. You really should have known better, than insulting my integrity and pride. Especially my pride.

I might have explained my reasoning, revealed, what I had learned, had she but asked. She did not, pouring vitriol on me instead, and greatly annoying me. Therefore, I’ll be keeping my knowledge to myself. Either way, they  only need to follow my commands, there’s no necessity for me to justify myself each time I make a decision. Apparently, Valeria had managed to forget that.

‘I was under impression that as my second, you are the one who is supposed to deal with these types of issues.’ I say coldly. The other members of the leadership avert their gazes, unwilling to take sides. ‘Clearly, such duties are beyond your capabilities. As of now, our Ghost will take over some of your responsibilities.’

Valeria jerks, as if slapped. Fenris, on the other hand, looks at me with pure amazement. Clearly, he hadn’t expected to be acknowledged, in any way. By a hateful mage, no less.

The meeting proceeds in a much more subdued manner, afterwards, as they try to avoid attracting my ire. I am unable to stop glaring, whenever addressed, in a foul mood after this new development with my adopted daughter. As it draws to a close, Nervlis gathers his courage, and asks the question on everyone’s mind; besides Fenris, who obviously has his suspicions.

‘So, where were you?’

I look at him in consideration, weighing whether I want to answer at all.

‘Why, in Haven, of course.’ I say, finally.

It merits a quiet, shocked gasp from Valeria, but I refuse to acknowledge her in any way. She has annoyed me enough for one day, already.

The disciplinary problems, which have been occurring as of late, have less to do with the Templars, in spite of Valeria’s words, and more with the disagreement of some of the people about our continued engagement with the Qunari. Maybe the reason she couldn’t deal with them was because she was looking in the wrong place, I think to myself, sourly.

The fight with Ben’Hassrath on the continent has picked up pace considerably, ever since I have been identified as one of the perpetrators of the Infernal Incident; which is how they refer to the loss of one third of their fleet, and entirety of their shipbuilding capabilities. From Arissar’s reports, the shipyard had only just begun working at full capacity, again.

Unfortunately, on the continent, everything seems to be going according to their plan. If the Mage-Templar War wrecks enough countries, they might succeed in spite of the weakened offence. The Raiders have already informed me, on the side, that some of their financial backers pulled out, worrying more about securing their wealth on the continent. If this trend continues, then Raiders will be forced to return to pirating again, in order to finance themselves. This is precisely what Par Vollen is waiting for, and in the meantime, their agents have increased their activities considerably.

Softening the material before the blow comes, so to speak.

I am not without an understanding when it comes to my fellow Wings concerns. Understanding, however, is by no means agreement.

They would like to return to the times when we were concerned merely with the slavers. Voices rise, that we should just wait for the storm to blow over. Our main concern should be slavery, they say, and not involving ourselves in some Tevinter wars. What do we care about that, anyway?

I listen to them speak their part, and then, without hesitation, say that anyone who wishes to can leave, no repercussions. But I will not change my policies, nor my course of action. Qunari cannot get a hold over Thedas, and I consider it, no, it **is** , far more vital than killing one slaver or another.

Some do, indeed, leave. Others remain. I am not concerned about that. With the constant trickle of the deserters, both from mages, and Templars, the Wings have gained in manpower, recently.

There’s a darker side to the problem, however, one that has Ebareth and Arissar busy for months. Ever since the Wings have become more visible, many other powers on Thedas have been looking to get an inside look. And some had, undoubtedly, succeeded. My Qunari spymasters are on a hunt for traitors.

Obviously, it is impossible to control every step of the ladder, and the spies and betrayers in of lower rank are left alone. But I requested a complete screening of the whole leadership from them, and just as reliably as ever, they deliver.

Two branch leaders turn out to be on payroll of others – Lorian in Orlais by the Chantry, and Trebius from our small Ferelden branch by the Qunari. A few others, but these two males are the ones with access to highly privileged information.

Truth to be told, I prayed, and hoped, naively, I know, that none would be found. I spend a sleepless night, coming to terms with the inevitable decision, before, in the morning, ordering their executions. Fenris is tasked with going after Trebius, but with Lorian, I decide to deal myself.

He was one of the people contacted by the Archivist, when we needed more manpower in leadership to manage the rapidly growing Wings. I owe my friend this much, to deliver this death personally.

Afterwards, glancing at the gathering pool of blood on the floor, I am a bit melancholic, and a touch regretful. I remember fondly the days when the Wings were only a group of friends, who could, and did, trust each other with their lives. And now, I have just killed one of my fellow Wings, for betrayal; and the Wings from Orlais scurry out of my way, when I walk out, afraid. Days of easy trust are over, and the further it all goes, the worse it will get.

I worried that my Ghost might take offence at being requested this task, but surprisingly enough, he doesn’t mind being an executioner. Soon, that’s how he is called by others, as heads fly and hearts are torn out, and my Wings are cleansed of the traitors. He doesn’t mind being feared, or the fact that this role is quite similar to what Danarius had him doing. Looking at me, after I ask him about that, he replies merely,

‘It is necessary. Who better than me?’

There’s no one, of course. Officially, he becomes third, amidst the Wings; but in reality, I treat him as equal with Valeria, especially since my adopted daughter is still sulking. I can’t deal with her when she is like that. I’ve learned to trust him with my back, and Fenris is a very intelligent, and devoted, individual. He is also ruthless enough for the position – where Tasha, or Ryanth, would have hesitated, he won’t.

Isabela laughs that it must be his pretty face that got him this fast of an advancement, when she returns from her assignment. I rise my eyebrows at the easy flirting between them, a bit surprised, but the Ghost seems quite used to her teasing manner, and so, I leave it alone. It’s not like it’s any of my business.

Close to six weeks after my return from Haven, Tasha bursts into my office, deeply distraught.

‘Did you know this would happen?!’ She questions me aggressively, but there are tremors is her voice. I put away my paperwork, and look at her with raised eyebrow.

‘Did I know **what** would happen?’ I ask, feeling lost.

Taking a deep breath, trying to regain control over herself, Tasha throws a bunch of pages on my desk. Picking them up with a frown, I quickly look over them.

It is all too apparent what has her so agitated. The Temple of Sacred Ashes had been blown to pieces, with no survivors, save one. The events came as a complete shock, and both sides of the war suffered severe casualties, their delegations lost. Still, they didn’t hesitate to point fingers at the opposition, and the war was back in full force.

Both Left, and Right hand of the Divine returned to Haven frothing with righteous anger at the death of their patroness. The talented females turned the town and surrounding area upside down, trying to come up with the explanation for the tragedy. So far, unsuccessfully.

Apparently, the explosion was not of the usual kind, since it marred the Skies with a so-called Breach. A gateway to the Fade, it was raining demons; or so the stories say. It, and a numerous Rifts, appeared; posing danger to the neighbourhoods.

It immediately awakens my curiosity – what might it mean? What could be so powerful, to tear into Fen’s spell? It’s hard to imagine, that anyone but him could find a way to break it. But it couldn’t have been him – specifically, he wouldn’t have fucked it up so spectacularly. Because that is the one thing clear from the report; it was a major fuckup, on the villain’s part, whomever the mysterious person might be. Or was, as the case might be, since I cannot imagine anyone living through a magical outburst of this proportions.

Then again, one person had. A Dalish elf, walked out of the Rift. I didn’t know it was possible to reach the other side in the first place. The naturally occurring tears in the Veil are far too weak to allow any interference; I’ve tried.

They call her Herald of Andraste, because, blessed with a mysterious mark on her hand, she has helped in sealing the Breach. At least, for now.

I snort softly, when I read this part. A Dalish championing for the Maker. Right. Creators would sooner return, to teach us all of our incompetence, before that happened. Maker isn’t stupid enough to do such a thing. Thus far, his mortals tools were extremely well chosen; I see no reason why would that change. What the humans wouldn’t believe, to see their fucking god as the all-mighty, interfering being.

Far more likely version is that he simply had nothing to do with it.

Which, of course, raises the question who did.

 ‘Well?’ Tasha interrupts my reading impatiently, with her arms crossed.

I roll my eyes, and reply.

‘I knew **something** would happen. As you can see, the actual event has me as surprised as everyone. The scope had faaar exceeded my expectations.’ It is the answer of all of my hopes; when I was leaving Justinia still breathing back in the Temple. But saying so to a mourning, nearly hysterical Tasha would be uncouth.

Evidently, what had actually happened defied Justinia’s expectations, as well. The Chantry was shocked into partial submissiveness, and barely says anything, Grand Clerics conflicted and infighting. So far the one thing they had agreed on was denouncing this so-called Inquisition, created in the wake of Justinia’s death. But it is still mostly a peaceful revolution, and it appears it will remain as such.

Tasha casts me one final, measuring look, before exiting my office. I study the reports closely, trying to glean as much information from them, weighing all of the for, and against, our course of action.

When the council gathers back again, I have the answer ready for them.

It takes every ounce of my self-restraint to stop myself from smirking smugly at the flabbergasted, utterly shocked faces of the remainder of the Wings’ leadership. Thanks to my intervention, no Wing had been caught in this damned mess.

The main reason behind my moderation is Tasha. She wouldn’t take kindly to my morbid satisfaction. Apparently, a few of her former acquaintances have been partaking in the peace talks, and the casualty report is cruelly brutal, in this regard – no survivors, aside from one.

I announce that I want to continue our hands-off policy, in general, when it comes to the Inquisition, but this time, we might want to send some observers. Check where the wind is blowing.

‘And no elves, you hear me? That’s the first thing they’ll expect, elven spies eager to verify the stories about the Dalish Herald of Andraste.’ I pause, thinking it over. ‘Oh, I know! Let’s send a dwarf! No one would connect a Child of Stone with Wings. At least, not easily. What dwarves do we have, who could possibly fit the bill?’

A moment of confounded silence, as my subordinates wreck their heads to come up with something.

‘Well… There’s Dagna…’ Nervlis says hesitantly, tilting his head.

‘Dagna… Dagna…The name rings a bell.’ I mutter to myself, glancing at him in askance.

‘The young dwarven arcanist who wanted to study magic, and got captured by the slavers on the way to Ferelden Circle of Magi. We had freed her a few years ago during that raid in Antiva.’ Reminds me Esme from the side.

‘Her family refused to allow her back to Orzammar, something about disgrace and all bullshit along the lines. We arranged for her apprenticeship with the Merchants Guild. Whenever she returns, she continues pestering our mages about showing her their abilities.’ She smiles softly. ‘Really, she is one of a kind.’

‘Isn’t she currently working with Bianca on the solution to saar gamek?’ Something clicks in my head.

‘She is a girl of many talents’ confirms Esme, with obvious fondness.

I consider the idea carefully, playing with it in my mind, checking every angle. The others in the office wait patiently, and it is a considerable while later, when I finally make my decision.

‘Not now. Saar gamek remains a priority, and I do not want to let her go in blind.’ A sudden smirk crosses my mouth. ‘Not to mention, there’s no guarantee this… Inquisition will last.’

I raise my head, and order,

‘Send others first, Nervlis. But, in the meantime, prepare everything for Dagna, just in case. Make sure there are no threads connecting her to us, arrange a contact route through the Merchants Guild, you know, all the long term stuff. **If** we decide to send her, I want everything to be top notch, because I would be loath to lose someone as valuable as her.’

Nervlis bows.

‘It will be done as you command, Quicksilver.’

It seems that the Seekers, a niche branch in Templars, had taken control over the Order. I am uncertain how to perceive this unexpected shift in power, because I had always believed Seekers to be calmer and more collected when it came to mage issues, than the remainder of the organization. But now, with the overseer of the said branch pushing for the war, I am forced to revise my statements. They have declared the Order independent of the incompetent, weak-willed Chantry, and are intending on fulfilling Andraste’s will, and commandments, on their own.

Ha. Andraste’s will. I wonder, what would they do, if they knew there were quite a few mages along with us on during the thrice-be-damned Crimson Rebellion. And Andraste wasn’t stupid enough to antagonize them.

A letter is delivered to my desk from the Lord Seeker Lucius. With a very deliberately threatening words, he demands Wings stop allowing any more Templar deserters, and return all those that have joined us thus far.

Grand Enchanter Fiona is much more diplomatic in her approach, while requesting the very same thing when it comes to the mages.

Obviously, neither one wants to give a clean out to the people who want it. With the Wings in existence, and allowing a safe refuge, a third option is available, one that is, apparently, quite popular.

I carefully construct the response to the offensive Templar. I inform him I know of no Templars within the Wings, but while there are quite a few who have left the ranks of the order, it isn’t our policy to question the pasts of our recruits. And then, with a vicious smirk, I add that if he intends on expressing his displeasure, it would be to my utmost regret, but the Wings would be forced to assist Grand Enchanter Fiona during her campaign.

In other words, stop being a pest, or I’ll support your opposition. There’s a distinct advantage to our growth.

Similar in nature response is penned to the elven leader of mage rebellion, and, satisfied with this resolution, I order these to be delivered to their recipients. I doubt they’ll be much of a bother, from this moment on.

When a letter arrives from the Inquisition, however, a carefully phrased invitation to assist their effort, I pause, in consideration. I definitely, in no way in hell, will involve myself in anything that has Justinia’s stamp of approval. Or, in their case, an official writ granting them an authority to act. A fucking permission for a witch hunt, that’s what it is.

On the other hand, however, I would not want to antagonize them, outright. They have all the basics down – the cause to unify masses, the symbol in this Herald of Andraste, and Justinia’s death, the capable people, and even some resources along with official decree justifying their existence. There’s a potential for growth there, to become a true strength. Which means we might be forced into some kind of deal, in the future. Regardless of my personal feelings.

So I write a response full of meaningless, trite things. My deepest regret, other things require our attention. We are of course very supportive, and will consider it. And other diplomatic drivel, which is basically, no, but maybe one day.

Unexpectedly, I am summoned before the Magister of the House of Lucanus. We had many dealings in the past, and became an almost friends, in these past few years. I grew quite fond of his son, whom I’ve saved once, Quintus, and his daughter, Minerva. In spite of our close rapport, I am at a loss, why would he request my presence at this time. It is quite a long while before the new senate session, or the customary ball he throws each year, which I even sometimes attend.

I am led through the back entrance, as usual for our more business-like meetings.

‘So, let me summarize.’ I stare at Tessarian with incredulity. ‘You want me to find this run-away boy of the House of Pavus. Who had escaped two months ago.’ I shake my head in disbelief.

‘I have had letters from both Lord Seeker Lucius, and Grand Enchanter Fiona, on my desk, this very week. While I **hope** it has been solved, I still need to ensure all of the divisions are aware of the danger, and have some safety measures implemented. There’s an upcoming, new, attempt at anti-slavery reforms which you have been **leading** , and you know full well that our war with Qunari is heating up. I do not have time for trivialities.’

‘Tessarian, my lord, you know I am fond of you. But tell me, why would I waste time, and resources, trying to track down a child who could be on the other end of Thedas, for all we know, or dead, send my best agents to find…’

‘In secret.’ The man in front of me adds.

‘To find in secret…’ I reiterate automatically, and my eyes widen. ‘Wait a second, what the fuck? Why would we bother trying to hide that we are looking for him?!’

‘Because I do not want any of my, or House Pavus, enemies, to know they have a prime chance at striking down the heir.’ Tessarian sighs heavily. ‘And because I, we, cannot afford the backlash if it was known he had, in fact, run away. The disgrace.’

This does sound ominous, that’s for certain, but it’s not enough to get me moving. I cross my arms, and look at him, awaiting elaboration.

‘I’ve been getting in on years, Quicksilver. And you know that my son cannot, for all that he is my heir, take over the leadership of my faction in the Senate.’

Because he is a child of a former slave. They will defer to him, and treat him with partial respect, as a scion of Lucanus, but he will be never, ever, allowed to lead. I know.

‘You are intending on making Dorian Pavus your political successor.’ I realize, and Tessarian nods sedately, running a hand through his hair. Which, I have only just realized, has gone completely white. I consider the situation with a frown, before inquiring,

‘Does Minerva not mind her husband being not interested in her?’ The boy has been flaunting his sexual preferences for years, already. I wonder if he revelled in the scorn he had received from the members of society.

‘It was her suggestion, actually.’ He informs me, and I almost gape in disbelief. ‘I really wish she had more interest in politics, she is quite brilliant, whenever she feels like it. But you can ask her about it personally, if you want.’

‘I most certainly shall.’ I mutter to myself, before rising my head, and looking at him. ‘You know that since she is not an heir, it would have been impossible for her to gain much of a following.’

‘If she ever considered it, I would have made her one.’ He replies, and I am even more dumbfounded. I really need to speak with the girl.

‘Very well. I’ll speak with your daughter, and if she does not reconsider, I’ll try to find the boy.’ I pause, before adding. ‘But if you want it kept secret, it will take considerable amount of time.’

‘I have the utmost faith in your abilities.’ He replies with a teasing glint in his eyes, and I snort derisively.

Satinalia swings by, and I have no time to speak with Minerva, up to my neck in chaos relating to it. It seems people want a lot more things done right before the celebrations, so they can let go without worries, but it brings me a headache. Especially since Valeria has been her uncooperative, as of late, self, and has been pestering me about Leliana’s letter, instead of fulfilling her duties properly. I am seriously beginning to consider making Esme my second. Ever since she has born a child, she has grown much more reliable and sedate in her approach to things.

While Valeria has been getting more and more out of hand. To my despair.

Unfortunately, Nervlis is out of the running, as Valeria’s lover. Truth to be told, he would have been my first choice, but I really do not want to mess up their relationship on top of taking away her position. If it ever came to that, it would be pushing the boundaries.

Still, it is all in the realm of possibilities, since I haven’t decided on anything, just yet.

Finally, comes the holiday, and my much deserved break. My friends gather in the Curtain, and we spend the evening on the leisurely conversation, letting go of all the tension and stress, surrounded by the silvery laugh of children. Tasha is pregnant with her third, and Esme’s little boy is just beginning to walk on all fours. She and Ebareth take turns watching over him, and I must admit, it is a sight to see: a large, beastly Qunari carefully pushing the energetic infant away from the danger. It feels almost like a family gathering, and I watch over the proceedings with an indulgent smile.

Not all of us feel that way, however, as Valeria continues hounding me about my stance on the Inquisition.

‘Valeria, it’s a goddamn Satinalia. Lay off a bit, let the woman rest.’ Riv calls from the side. I salute him with my glass of wine, in gratitude.

Unfortunately, Valeria ignores him, and continues to be a bother. Finally, my patience runs out, I and snap. I lay the blame on the alcohol for my far too honest words.

‘Unless the Dread Wolf himself asks me to join the damnable Inquisition, I’ll have nothing to do with this bunch of religious devouts going up in arms in Andraste’s name!’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess I must have dissapointed some of you. Still, here is a list of main reasons why Fean’Na couldn’t be Inquisitor:  
> 1\. She has (and was always supposed to have) her Wings, and while she had a few solo stunts I don’t see her forsaking her organization to join the holy war she cares nothing about. And forcing Wings into the Inquisition’s ranks is just plain NO.  
> 2\. How would she ever invite Bull and Ben’Hassrath into her organization? In spite of Valotaar’s words, I just do not see her overlooking it. Not kill him, yes, but trust him with her back? Never. And Inquisition without Bull… No, I just can’t imagine that.  
> 3\. With the way Fean’Na refuses to submit to anyone, I don’t see her ever listening to any of her advisors. And with a title of Herald of Andraste, she would go positively spare. So that would mean – well, discarding the whole story all together, with her knowing Fen beforehand and all that. I may be creative, but to rewrite it completely? Well, call me lazy, but that’s a bit much. 
> 
> Not to mention, honestly, she is just so much more skillful and knowledgeable than any potential game created Inquisitor, she and Fen (who wouldn’t have to hide his true potential in front of her) would have torn Cory apart in Haven. Game over right after prologue, nearly. Or else I would have to come up with yet another disability which would prevent her, or him, from doing so.  
> Truth to be told, I never saw her as Inquisitor. I tried, a few times, considering how it might have worked. But no, in the end, I am doing it my way. Sorry.
> 
> Thank you, Fiesk, for your kind words. I am glad you are enjoying Fean'Na. I am quite attached to her, myself.  
> Dear LauraConnolly, I've never seen you as snobby. I appreciate your corrections of my unintentional changes in the universe. I'll be making enough of the intentional ones to try avoiding those not so deliberate.


	33. Entangled Pride

**Entangled Pride**

Come morning, I really want to kick myself in the gut for my completely misplaced bout of honesty. I really should have kept my mouth shut, because my outburst did not help the issue at all. Valeria remains as stubborn as ever, and I revealed something of myself the others were better off not knowing.

I find time for visit to Minerva, finally, after the Satinalia. Walking through the Lucanus estate, as always, I admire the intricate craftsmanship of all the textiles. Carpets, curtains, clothing and bedlinen. Humans fall short of the former Elvhen or Dwarven skill in manipulation of the more resistant material like stone or metal, and so, their sculptures and architecture are simply less impressive. But they more than make up for it in fabric. Arlathan elves preferred simplicity and incomparable quality of the weave; now, designs and colours dominate on Thedas. And these patterns and dyes are very interesting to look at.

Even if, pressed against the wall, I would be forced admit that Elvhen severity and clean lines appealed to me more. Nonetheless, I quite like the variety, which was severely lacking in the days of Arlathan. The elves all had similar approach, and younger races were simply too barbaric to care, and dress, lavishly. Now, Orlais, Tevinter, Ferelden, or other countries, each have their distinctive dressing style and customs.

Tessarian’s eldest, Minerva, is of a quite forgettable appearance, especially next to her striking father and brother. Brown hair in the colour of dirt, and a typically for Tevinter darker skin colour, of a lovely caramel hue. Still, what she lacks in the looks department, she more than makes up in intelligence and magical aptitude. The strength of her spells and potential she can achieve far exceed mine.

I have been feeling a great deal of sympathy for her, because she was immediately replaced by her younger half-brother in the line of inheritance, the moment he was born. Minerva never felt any grudge towards Quintus, in spite of the circumstances; doting on him with a certain amused tolerance whenever he came up with something stupid or frustrating.

Nonetheless, I was astounded to learn she did not want the heir position at all. I know she had no choice in her youth – Tessarian did it to protect the boy from the harshness of the society. It is much different when insulting a younger child born of the former slave, than the heir apparent of a prestigious and old line. I believed the change to be permanent one, though; and to learn that Tessarian offered Minerva the return of her due, only to be rejected, is quite a revelation.

The young woman awaits me in her tastefully arranged reception room. None of the Orleasian pretentiousness here, with the ostentatious overuse of golden ornamentation of all sort – Tevinter frowns on such megalomania. Simply put, the Vint’s believe themselves better than the rest of Thedas, superior in all aspects. Any flaunting is considered a sign of weakness, of uncertainty; there’s no need to prove oneself.

It’s a different kind of poise than Orleasian one, and one I find much more easier to bear. Even if it **can** be grating on the recipient’s nerves, this ingrained haughtiness and often unreasonable certainty that one is infallible.

I guess, my main problem with it is that it’s not pride, not anymore – it’s arrogance.

Fortunately, my today’s host has learned throughout the years of our acquaintance to keep hers on leash. It doesn’t mean it’s not there – Minerva is Tevinter, they have it inborn – but she has been subjected to my disdainful ridicule whenever she had even attempted looking down on me. As a bright girl, Minerva quickly realized she was unable to outtalk me, and so, instead, she changed her behaviour to avoid confrontations.

After exchanging brief greetings, we quickly move to the reason of my visit.

‘Why?’ I ask her simply, making circles with my finger on the wooden table. There’s a detailed design carefully burnt onto the surface of the furniture, but I am too distracted to pay any attention to it.

‘I have a lover. Of a former-slave kind.’ She replies calmly, and I want to laugh. The apple did not fall far from the tree.

Obviously, I can see her reasoning, just then. With Dorian being so obviously not interested in females, and still in need of heirs, she would be allowed to continue the relationship, without ever facing society’s scorn the way her father did. It is perfectly acceptable – commonplace, even – to have slave paramours. Gods forbid, however, from actually, officially, acknowledging them.

Of course, she would face different ones instead - after all, having a husband like that is bound to get tongues wagging. I frown, thinking about it.

‘Were you an heir, you could make them eat their own tongues. Your father certainly did.’

‘I am not interested in political games, Quicksilver. I know how to play them, because one of my birth does not survive without knowing them, but I do not like them. This way, I would be getting the package deal – a husband who is both well-versed and interested in them to keep others off my back, as well as my lover.’ She takes a break, sipping her wine slowly. ‘And my child would be a legitimate, rightful heir of the house of Pavus, without having to face what Quintus did.’

I nod with understanding. Minerva saw what her brother went through, and did not wish it for her own, future children with the mysterious man, whomever he might be.

‘Well, I was hoping to convince you against that. I really do not want to spend my time chasing after your runaway fiancé.’ I admit grumpily, and she laughs. She looks very pretty just then, with the lines of her face relaxed, and a contrary twinkle in her eyes.

‘No chance of that happening, is there?’

‘None at all.’ Minerva answers, still smiling.

I switch the topic, aware that nothing would come out of pushing her. Unlike Valeria, I know when to back off. We spend the remainder of the afternoon on leisure talking, and she entertains me with the most recent scandals of the Magisters.

I learn quite a lot during our talks, things which sometimes turn out useful. Minerva does not mind that I use this knowledge, since she isn’t revealing any secrets. It is simply much easier to find it out from her, a member of the sphere who walks among them, and talks to them, than in bits and pieces from the numerous servants. Especially since there are intricacies she sees which would escape their eyes. She is aware of the whole picture, and sometimes, can even guess what’s hidden underneath it.

It is very tempting to go after Dorian myself. Once I realize there’s no squirming out of it I decide it is quite an interesting mission, in spite of the waste of resources it entails. Unfortunately, with the manoeuvring to be done in Senate – even if we have almost no chance at succeeding, in the current situation, with everyone’s focus on the war – I cannot afford disappearing for months, necessary for the undercover groundwork. So, feeling a bit regretful that I have to pass on the challenging assignment, I pass it down on Nervlis.

Before leaving, he relates me some of the most recent news from Orlais. It seems that after years of unrest and tension, finally, the war had begun there, between the two throne contenders. My eyebrows rise at that.

‘Are you telling me that with the large hole in the sky, and the Templar-Mage conflict again reawakened, now they had decided it to be a perfect moment to start it?’

My tone does not leave much doubt what I think about it. Or about Celene and Gaspard in general. Nervlis nods, without much surprise at my reaction.

‘Our spies claim that they both decided the other side was weakened more by the situation.’ He explains, and I snort. Of course they wouldn’t care about how the lives of the people in Orlais were affected by the Rifts, no. Of course not. Let the people take care of themselves – or die, as the case might be, under demonic onslaught – and take a chance to strike against the opponent, instead!

In spite of my severe dislike of anything Orlais, now, I feel a bit of pity for them.

Nervlis begins by infiltrating the Pavus Household. To have any chance at finding the boy without alerting anyone of our search, Nervlis needs to get to know him. Where he is likely to be headed, what sort of support is available to him. Even his personal preferences when it comes to cuisine might help narrowing down the sort of tavern Dorian would choose during his flight.

Barely a month later, he drops by the headquarters, seriously disturbed and disgruntled. And once I learn what he had, I am too. Though in my case, there’s a considerable amount of rage there, as well.

Magister of the House of Pavus had attempted to use blood magic on his son, in order to make him… different, before the marriage. Change his preferences to the more suitable ones. No wonder the child had run!

I immediately go to Tessarian, and impart that little piece of information on him.

‘I think that if you ever want the boy to take over after you, first, you need to talk some sense into his father.’ I say dryly. ‘Not only is the ritual they intended to use quite dangerous, there’s no way Dorian Pavus will become what we need him to be when he is kept here against his will. Which means we need to make Minrathous a place he would want to return to, and that is simply not happening in the current situation.’

‘Yes. Yes, of course.’ Tessarian agrees with me readily, and sighs heavily. ‘I never would have expected…’ He mutters to himself, shaking his head.

I let myself out, certain that Lord Lucanus will sort it all out. If Dorian didn’t escape, this would have turned out into quite a mess – especially since Minerva actually chose him because he wouldn’t want to bed her. I am suddenly glad for it - even if it makes my situation more complicated.

Nervlis infiltrates then the Alexius house, where, most likely, Dorian hid, at least at first. His close ties with them aren’t a secret, he was quite infatuated with Felix, and a devoted apprentice of his father. Both of them are, coincidentally, suspiciously, missing as well, and Nervlis hopes to pick up on some more information there.

More messages arrive from across Thedas, people reporting the sightings of multiple Rifts, spawning demons. However, these are all within certain radius of the Breach – mostly in Orlais and Ferelden. A few on the southern edge of Free Marches, and Nevarra, but neither Antiva, nor Tevinter, saw any of the phenomena. I speculate that the weakening of Fen’s spell was only partial – and, at a guess, temporary. The fact that this Inquisitor has been able to seal this… Breach without any training whatsoever, simply by being marked, whatever that means, supports my theory.

I’m, however, insanely curious what this mark, in fact, is. Unfortunately, my spies sent to the Inquisition are none too forthcoming about it, focusing instead on a fact that there are new recruits joining the forces in Haven. I receive reports both from them, and from people I’ve sent to observe the Chargers, that Iron Bull has been trying to get in contact with them.

It raises hairs on my back, that the Ben’Hassrath are also attempting to get in touch with the Inquisition. I try to divert all of the Bull’s attempts, intercepting letters and trying to keep him away from the organization. I do not care what they want to achieve in particular; I simply do not want any strengthening of Qunari influence on Thedas.

Months pass, and Nervlis becomes frustrated, unable to find any information on where in the Void are the Lord and Heir of House Alexius. Or Dorian. Valeria is also quite irritated by the situation, since his mission takes up most of his time, and he appears only once in a while to visit her. I am beyond pissed, because even though I had expected our reforms to fail, again, I simply hate losing. And both me and Valeria being annoyed means we cannot spend a prolonged lengths of time in vicinity, before things get confrontational.

The Inquisition had, on the other hand, been quite successful. They secured Templar support for their endeavour, and the last I hear, they are planning to close the Breach, soon. It is what pushes me into action, and out of Minrathous, for the first time in over a year. I leave Valeria in charge, with Fenris at her back, and travel to Haven, to take a look at the thing with my own eyes; before it is not there to be seen anymore.

It isn’t easy to get near, Inquisition patrols constantly in the area. In the end, I am forced to use my magic, to obscure myself from the view. Blending in with the shadows of the night, I come closer to the swirling, vividly green entity in the sky.

It is beautiful. It is the Fade, magic and life and creation. I take a deep breath of the air saturated with power, feeling it tingle on my nerve tips, wash all-over me. I do not understand how anyone can think it creepy. What is unnatural is what Fen had done to this world, restricting it and reshaping. Not that I blame him for that – he sought a solution to a more vital problem, and he found it.

It too intensely green, and as I delicately probe the currents with my aura, I begin to understand that all of the Fade is pressing against the Breach, trying to get free. I wonder if the demons even want to go through it, or whether they were simply… pushed out by the force. I can think of a couple better ways of getting to the other side, than raining down from the skies.

But also Fen’s spell is still holding, the seams of the shredded weave keeping it all behind. Even as I poke at it, I can feel new ones being created, trying to close up the hole. Of course, the Breach remains because just as many as there are created, there are those who break under the strain. The Breach remains unchanged in size, but at  guess, the shape shifts tiny little bit each day, when one section gets repaired, while another one breaks.

They say it was growing, before the Inquisitor sealed it. How is that possible? There’s no additional… feel to the spell, aside from Fen. Has he been here? No, impossible. He must be still asleep, otherwise, surely, he would have found me.

Still, I feel a nagging doubt at the back of my mind, and decide to drop by his Sanctuary, the moment time allows. Just in case.

My curiosity sated, I force myself away from the glowing maelstrom in the sky. Staying any longer is only inviting trouble, exposing myself to the danger of being found. I would have loved to stay, maybe even indefinitely, breathing in the magic, drowning in it. After years of its lack, it is truly a mesmerizing, addictive experience.

I avoid Haven,  current base of the Inquisition forces, overrun with Templars. Irritably, I realize that the Charges had, in the end, managed to get a message through, because their presence is just as hard to miss, with them camping on the outskirts of the town. There will be a few words exchanged, on the topic, with my agents responsible for that failure.

My own plans of dropping by Fen get derailed, however, when I return to Minrathous and Valeria assaults me.

‘Where have you been?!’ She basically shouts, and I can feel my anger rising at her completely inappropriate tone.

‘None of your business’ I point out coldly, before indulging her. ‘I dropped by Ferelden, to check how Trez was holding up.’

Official cause of my visit there – aside from my interest in the Breach, but that is private – is the fact that after the execution of their previous division leader, our forces in Ferelden had fallen into slight disarray. I stayed around, after returning from my visit to the Breach, and hovered for a while. Reassuring people that just because it turned out their boss was a spy, it doesn’t mean they are **all** under suspicion.

Things were on the mend, by the time I was leaving.

‘Nervlis is missing.’ Valeria says brokenly, and all of my irritation evaporates, replaced by worry.

‘What do you mean?’

‘A day after you left, I, we, received an update from him. Ever since then, nothing.’

I head to my office, casting off the travelling coat on the way, and look through the documents to see what was our last information from my best spy.

_‘I finally have a lead. It seems that the house of Alexius was mixed up in something sinister. You might recall the Venatori situation. The people here in the main household suspect that the Magister had went to their fortress, on the Nevarra-Orlais border. There’s a high chance that Dorian Pavus went with them, although no one can say it for certain.’_

I ask Tasha to dig up from our archive what we have about the organization, and spend a few hours reading up the reports, and thinking how to deal with this unexpected crisis.

There isn’t much here, only scraps and pieces of information. They are a Tevinter restoration movement, an initiative based upon the claim that the empire of the past was a greater thing, and it should be restored. They are considered dangerous extremists within Tevinter, still worshipping the old gods, in opposition to the imperial Chantry. No one likes to be caught in association with them, because of serious repercussion it brings, but I am fairly certain that most of the noble houses sympathize with them, at least on some level.

Our own association with them was marginal, and quite accidental. We have freed a transport of the slaves, headed to one of their bases. Ever since, our relationship was a bit strained, but surprisingly, they didn’t hold it against us. Much.

It’s not like I disagree with them, on the whole. They certainly have a point, the current empire cannot hold a candle to its past splendour. I can even admit that their laying the blame on the change of faith and custom isn’t entirely wrong. I mean, they are a bit off in their interpretation of the events, but considering that the history was written, and facts bent, by Andrastian victors, it is kind of impressive how close to the actual truth they came.

Their methods, however, leave much to be desired. As long as they continue their random attacks, and so on, no one in the society will show them any support. There’s a reason why Wings stopped with openly offensive actions, and that was to not offend the conscience of the poor, Tevinter souls. ‘Vints, similarly to myself, hate being told they are wrong, and going about it forcefully is sure to raise opposition. Pointing it out, carefully manoeuvring them to stumble upon the idea, is the way to push things forward – and then they will claim it was theirs all along.

That is not to say it is an easy process. In spite of knowing the proper way to go about it, both me, and Tessarian, failed, four times already, at introducing a major reform.

In the morning, when I am finally decided how I want to proceed, and begin deciding on the team members to bring alongside with me, one of my spies from the Inquisition arrives, personally, with earth-shattering news.

The Inquisition was attacked. By the Venatori army, supported by the rebel mages. How, and when, did they get in contact, flashes through my mind, as the breathless man continues relating the story. A dragon controlled by a blighted Magister. A massacre. Haven had fallen, and the Dalish elf with the mark barely escaped with her life. A new, miraculously found fortress, which they have claimed for themselves. Herald of Andraste officially named Inquisitor, a leader of the organization.

I have to sit down, my head threatening to burst from the overflow of information. Blinking a few times to get them more organized, I focus on prioritizing the tasks, all of my previous plans suddenly thrown out of the window.

I begin with writing a few words to Esme, ordering her to immediately set in motion our preparations with Dagna. We desperately need to know more. I detest, abhor, being blindsided like that – and I hadn’t expected Venatori to be able to muster any major force. They were just a goddamn terrorists! Not to mention, why were they against the Inquisition? The information can be found only in two places – in the Inquisition itself, or from the Venatori. And considering the fact that something terrible befell Nervlis, I am not keen on risking sending any more people that way.

Aside from myself.

I arrange things swiftly, leaving Valeria in charge, firmly telling her to rely on Fenris, whenever he comes back, and on Tasha. I had intended on bringing more people with me, but taking into account the recent development, I decide against anything that might attract attention. My best bet at getting to Nervlis – if he yet lives, and that isn’t a train of thought I’m particularly keen on following – is to steal him away, because it is clear we cannot match the Venatori in terms of pure strength.

I travel fast, cursing the rapidly spinning out of control events vehemently. I am used to a much more languid pace, and dislike being forced into making decisions on the spot – but that was happening more and more often, in recent years.

Arriving at Nevarra, I can only praise the Venatori foresight making the base of operation here. It is a scarcely populated, not very well-off country of large, windy plains and poor soil. People here are focused in tight communities, with their strange necromancy practices, frowned upon by the rest of Thedas. I never saw anything wrong with them, although I was never attracted to the art of necromancy itself. I just gleaned a bit, and decided it is a strange cross between blood magic and spirit manipulation, before abandoning the issue with disinterest.

Normally, I quite appreciate the mausoleums in Nevarra’s capital, eerily creepy buildings with haunting atmosphere unlike anywhere else. This time, however, I burst through the City at high speed, without time to spare for the views.

I make my way off the main road, and to the west, in the wilds. I spend days, before I finally discover the fortress which Nervlis must have meant. It is on high alert, I can tell at a first glance, and so, I find a nearby settlement, to replenish supplies, and plan strategy. A single misstep here, and I’ll end up in the same plight my dear friend is in.

To my astonishment, the small village is bursting from excitement, since the Inquisition has just established an outpost here, over the Orleasian border. Or the assumed Orleasian border, because things are quite fluid here, in the wasteland no one really cares about, or contests. That is, no one had cared about, until now.

Obviously, giving it a little thought, the Inquisition is doing the same thing I am doing, looking for the Venatori. Considering their recent, violent, history, it really is no wonder that the fortress is at high alert. With a sigh, I decide that it is unlikely their watchfulness will lessen any time soon, and decide to try and find a way around it.

Days pass and I find nothing. But, to my surprise, I encounter an Inquisition agent asking about any Venatori presence around. Could it be, that they are unaware of the base around here?

After a bit of wavering, I decide to take my chances with it. Either way, as long as the Inquisition remains, the Venatori walls will be impossible to penetrate through my means, alone. Well, I guess I could get **in,**  but getting out, and with Nervlis in tow, most likely in a poor shape, would be the tricky part. Of the impossible kind.

Finding the Inquisition camp is extremely easy. I come up to one of the guards, and say,

‘I have some information you might want.’

He raises his eyebrow skeptically, and takes my measure. I feel sized up, from head to toe, and his doubts rising.

‘About?’ He asks laconically.

‘Venatori.’ I reply just as shortly.

‘Well.’ His tone leaves me no illusions what he thinks about my reliability, but he turns, and waves for me to follow. ‘ **If** you really have the information, the Inquisitor would surely like to hear them.’

No wonder the Venatori are rattled, if she is really here. I stifle a sigh, knowing that while I was right to come here, it lowers Nervlis’ chances significantly.

I can hear voices in the distance, as I come to dusty area surrounded by tents.

‘…what’s your opinion on this, Solas?’

‘I would advise caution.’ Says a familiar voice, and my mind blanks out.

No. That’s impossible.

I quickly turn my eyes, trying to find the man who spoke.

Fen?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m extremely grateful for the enthusiastic response to the last chapter. I was a little worried, since everyone kind of expected Fean’Na to be Inquisitor, and I had no such intentions. I am glad you agree with my decision in this regard.  
> It all really helped me write this chapter.
> 
> I’m sorry if I am going against the lore with some of my descriptions of Tevinter or Nevarran culture and landmass, but I believe there’s not much information given (?) and therefore I am letting it all flow wherever my mind takes me. I kind of imagine Nevarra as this large steppe, next to a more desert area of the Hissing Wastes in the south, and Anderfels to the north.
> 
> I’ve also finally begun playing with the timeline. From now on, all the dates and times from Wiki will become inaccurate – beginning with the war in Orlais, but also, other things. I’ll adjust the story, of course, to fit my facts, so instead of the ‘time pressure’ to see the Wardens etc., it will be more spread out. 
> 
> I’ll have next one ready, hopefully this Saturday, Sunday at the latest.


	34. Bitter Pride

**Bitter Pride**

It’s definitely Fen, and yet, he seems so unlike himself. All Evanuris had this aura of power around them, the Fade and mana clinging close to their skins, swirling around them at all times. Always within their reach, effortlessly shaped with their every decision, because that’s who they were. A beings of might and magic. And while Fen argued they weren’t the Creators; still they were the closest beings to gods that walked Thedas.

No sign of it in Fen now. The wolf appears no different to a mortal. One could question whether he really was a mage, without taking a closer look. Had his powers truly been so greatly diminished?

He is clad in what I could generously call a travelling gear. Closer to the truth would be random rags and fur. The wolf, who used to always be attired to fit the occasion, in rags! When did his appearance stop mattering to him so completely ?

There’s a suspicious amulet hanging on his neck, and even from the distance I can feel a strange dissonance it creates in his aura. Without giving it any thought, I instinctively reach out with my own power to probe it.

Only to be pushed away. I feel as if I had been slapped, and immediately back away, feeling a sudden pain in my heart. Doesn’t he recognize me? Or worse, he does, only he doesn’t trust me, anymore.

Then again, he hasn’t been looking for me. He was awake, and he hadn’t tried to find me.

This sudden awareness is nearly blindsiding, and I stifle a quiet whimper.

Fen lifts, and turns his head, searchingly. I can see a flash of… something, when he sees me, but otherwise, he appears completely unaffected. A perfect stranger.

Complete opposite of myself, because I nearly stumble from shock. The Inquisitor also turns around, clearly thrown by the sudden pause in the conversation, attention of her conversationalist flittering away.

‘Solas? Do you know her?’ Her voice is pleasantly melodical, like the Elvhen of old. I am sure she could be a wonderful singer, with this modulation.

Solas? Why would he call himself Proud? If anything, I have always considered him Wise. It is surprising naming choice, on his part. I would love to know what he had meant by that; but raising my hopes only to have them disappointed would be too much for me to take.

There’s a moment of hesitation, before Fen replies.

‘We used to be friends.’ Nothing could hurt me more than this measured neutrality in his voice. I look at him, and realize, that I can’t read him anymore. I used to be able to see the hidden meaning in the words he spoke, always. But now, I am uncertain - is there even one? Or maybe he really **is** simply indifferent?

Automatically, I feel my walls closing in. Surrounding myself with an air of nonchalant indifference. My pride wouldn’t stand showing my pain in front of strangers. My face morphs into an unconcerned mask, and I add, completely blandly,

‘It was a long time ago. Fea of the Wings, pleased to make your acquaintance, Inquisitor.’

I step closer to them.

She nods, politely, while I continue gathering, and shoving, my feelings into a tight box, and closing the lid over them. After a few seconds, I feel as if I regained some of my balance, and focus on my purpose. Nervlis. I am here because of Nervlis. The fact that I had this unexpected reunion with the long-time friend changes nothing.

I must admit, I have gotten quite proficient at lying to myself. Because, of course, Fen’s presence, the fact that he is awake, changes fucking everything. For me, at least. But I can pretend, for now, it doesn’t. Because I’ll turn into quivering mess of hurt and pain, otherwise, and I can’t afford it now. More importantly, **Nervlis** can’t afford me breaking into pieces, right now.

‘It appears that our interest in the area coincides. You have been looking for the Venatori base of operation? Well, I could tell you where it is. And open up the gates for you.’ I lay down my offer concisely, feeling quite accomplished, because there isn’t even a slightest tremble to my voice.

‘I thought Wings weren’t interested in association with us. Your leader calls us “religious fanatics”.’ Inserts a warrior woman from the side.

I was so zoned onto Fen, I hadn’t even noticed there were more people on the clearing. Now, I cast a gauging look at her, trying to place the female in my mental map of the Inquisiton’s important people. A moment later, it clicks. Cassandra Pentaghast, Seeker, and one of the founders, I guess I could call them, of the whole thing.

There’s a wave of irritation, as I realize someone in the Curtain must be passing information on the outside. I have believed that weeding out the rats from the leadership would suffice; alas, it seems I’ll need to focus my attention on the people in the headquarters as well. She shouldn't have known that.

‘Regardless of my leader’s personal thoughts, in this instance, we can be of assistance to one another.’ I reply, feeling a bit off-balance referring to myself in third person. In my years as Fea, it happened only a handful of times, and I always felt a bit awkward about it. ‘One of ours was… detained by the Venatori. My orders are to get him back.’

The orders I gave to myself.

The Inquisitor glances at Fen, who nods, almost imperceptibly. I catch the silent exchange only because I am wholly conscious of his every movement, and I feel a wave of jealousy at their familiarity. I used to be in her spot, once, when a single word, or glance, from him, would speak volumes. Now, I am completely at a loss.

‘Very well. Me and my companions will support you in getting the gates opened, while the rest of the soldiers will lie in wait, until the signal is given to attack.’ The Dalish girl says, and a flurry of movement begins, as people go on to grab their gear.

‘I can do it just fine on my own, thank you for the offer.’ You will only get in my way, are the words I keep to myself.

I want to be gone from this place, as fast as possible. I do not want to observe Fen anymore, not like that, not with the knowledge that he doesn’t consider me his friend, anymore. Even if he hasn’t said anything exactly wrong - I mean, how can one claim to still be friends with someone after literally two thousand years of being apart? Or, if we discount the two - two - meetings we had during the Twilight of Gods, the number grows to over three.

Yet, I considered him as one. It is a heavy blow, finding out he did not.

Had I not had my duties and responsibility to Nervlis, I would have disappeared into the wilds, curled up and wailed my sorrow out. Cry and claw it out of my heart, and forget. Forget my disappointed hopes and feelings, just go on pretending we’ve never met. Because I could never be indifferent to him, and so, it would be better to simply avoid any more encounters whatsoever.

‘How can we trust you are not betraying us?’ Says the woman called Cassandra, whom I’ve identified as the former Right Hand of the Divine.

My nerves are so frayed, I barely stifle a derisive snort. Only the awareness that I need their assistance, so I would better not antagonize them, is keeping my tongue on leash. I mean, how stupid of a suggestion is that? I am risking my own life here, and they have nothing to lose, as long as they stay beyond the gate. And when it opens, my eventual, presumed betrayal would matter little, as they are easily capable of overwhelming the defenders through sheer manpower.

Really, I do not see the terrifying Seeker everyone was in fear of, interfering on Justinia’s behalf. I do not see the intelligence, or the decisiveness, she was so praised for. I just see a stubborn, devoted and loyal woman, but none of the brilliance Leliana, the legendary Nightingale, displays. Was she chosen merely for her loyalty? Her reliability?

Possibly. I can imagine that these might be rare qualities, especially these days. Still, in my Wings, we have many, whom I would consider more valuable than her. At least, thus far, she had shown me nothing to convince me otherwise.

‘Now, now, Casandra, let’s not throw unwarranted accusations. I understand that you are not very happy with the Wings. We have no reason to offend serah Fea here, however. She came in good faith, and we would be only confirming the slander about us, if we returned her kindness with hostility.’ The Inquisitor interjects. The warrior female grumbles in discontent, but finally, nods her head in unwilling acquiescence.

Me? I am in disbelief. My behaviour wasn’t, in any fucking way, kind; I am only because I need them.

On the other hand, I thought the Inquisitor title was just for show. It seems the girl does, actually, hold some sway. The extent of it remains to be seen, of course. Certainly, she doesn’t wield as great of an authority as I do within Wings - or at least, I haven’t seen anything, thus far, suggesting it.

Unfortunately, I am unable to convince them against joining me during my mission, and come darkness, I find myself accompanied by four, additional, **loud** people. Well, three loud people, and Fen. Solas, now.

I have observed the fortress long enough to catch onto the patterns of the guards movements, there. Really, having a pattern of any kind is a mistake; while obviously easier in management, it makes it much easier for the enemies, as well. Though there aren’t many people quite as skilled at infiltration as me and my Wings. I guess the Venatori didn’t see the opportunity given.

They are going to pay for it, dearly.

I leave my temporary companions down, quickly scaling the wall; a skill coming from long practice. The surface used to be quite even in the past, from the looks of it, but it has long since fallen into disrepair, poorly maintained. There are many creeks and holes that allow for easy leverage and places to hold onto, while I lift myself upwards.

Throwing the rope down from battlements, I swear internally at the fucking waste of time. If the dalliance their presence have caused makes our attempt fail, I’ll personally gut the Inquisitor for her brilliant idea. Assistance. Ha. Truly laughable.

Fen, of course, is as swift as ever, swinging his body with soundless grace over. I bet he didn’t need the rope at all; he was the one to teach me the basics of the climbing. True, it was mountain climbing, but it does not differ that much.

Stifling my frustration, I nod to him, while the others - Cassandra and the man, Blackwall, and the Inquisitor, laboriously make their way up. They are in top form, of course, constant fighting tends to harden people; and they make a decent time, even with their lack of practice. But I am in a bad mood, and unwilling to admit that - I would have much rather went alone.

Finding the mechanism operating the gates doesn’t take a long time. All Tevinter fortresses in the old days were build with the same layout, and we have taken enough of them during Crimson March for me to learn it by heart. Even with the passage of time, I move with surety in my steps, certain where to go.

We run into some guards in the corridor right next to the room where I presume the controls would be. I deal with one of them swiftly enough, and turn around to see the other still alive, with my companions deep in argument regarding him. The one sole saving grace in the situation is that he is clearly frozen by Fen’s… Solas’ spell.

‘We do not have to kill him!’ Inquisitor says.

There’s a long suffering sigh from Cassandra.

‘Inquisitor, we have no means of imprisoning every enemy we capture alive, and leaving him behind right this moment is a security risk.’

‘I think execution is kinder to imprisonment.’ Throws his three cents the bearded, black haired man whose origins are a mystery to me.

Did I mention I hate trusting with my back people who I know nothing about? Well, I do hate it, and so, usually, refrain from putting myself in such circumstances. But there’s nothing typical about this situation.

And they are making me wait for them. Again.

‘Can we please **move** on?’ I hiss irritably from the corner, glancing worriedly at the entrance to the tower. So far, no one had come in, but while I was able to check on the timings of the people outside, I have no idea what is their timetable inside the building. Which means any moment now, a change in shift might appear.

This is why I do not take amateurs along with me, fucking ever. These people are so used to being in control, of owning every situation - which is kind of ironic that they maintain this perception even after the loss they have suffered - they disregard the fact that this once, we do not have luxury of a time to spare.

They proceed to ignore me, and glare at each other in disagreement, Inquisitor adamant in her stance, with crossed arms and defiance written on her face.

Having lost my patience and goodwill completely, with one swift movement I take out a throwing knife from my pocket and without taking time to aim, hit the man in question in his right eye socket. With an ugly sound of my weapon meeting the mark, he slumps down, dead before hitting the ground.

' **Now** it is resolved, will you get going?!’

It certainly gets their attention. The Dalish girl is blustering in outrage, Cassandra is stuck between berating me for throwing weapons in front of them, and praising me, and the bearded man simply agrees. And Fen looks as indifferent and unflappable, as he has been looking ever since I saw him in the camp.

This time I am the one to disregard them, as I proceed to enter the room, and dispatch the one remaining in there person - I won’t give the Inquisitor any chance to argue for this one’s life, as well. He had been, luckily for us, sleeping during his duty hours, or else he would have surely heard the commotion outside the door.

‘This lever opens the gate, and that one raises the portcullis. Give me a few moments before starting the assault.’ I say to the entering Cassandra, gesturing at the machinery. She nods her understanding, while I resheath my knives and swiftly exit the room. I have to get to the prison before this mess happens, or the Venatori might decide that at the very least, they could kill the prisoners. If they are to face their deaths anyway, they could at least take some others along with them, and deny their attackers some support. Or information, because the prisoners can get quite crafty, while getting stuff out of their jailors.

Desperate people, reach to desperate measures. I would know; I’ve been there.

My knowledge comes in handy again, and fortunately, most of the forces here are focused on the walls, or resting. It is the darkest part of the night, when I cross the courtyard, and slip into the prison tower.

To my relief, it seems that in spite of Inquisitor’s anger with me, they had listened, and allowed me some time.

The guards pose no problem, since, finally left of my own, I allow myself to express some of my irritation, and reach to my magic to speed up the process. Had I been alone, I would have done so in the first place, but with the damn Seeker on my back, I couldn’t risk it. Chances are, her training would have allowed her to recognize the fluctuations in power, even the unusual kind, which my magic displays. Templars are quite proficient at finding mages, and recognizing the usage of mana.

There are quite a lot of people imprisoned here, all of them in poor shape, illness on their faces. Their eyes are bloodshot, and veins enlarged, and pulsing. They feel a bit off, exuding some undefined kind of sickly feeling.

Finally, finally, I find Nervlis, among others. He has a deep gash on his chest, and lies, heaving heavily, in one of the corners, attended by one of the females. I quickly pass the keys to the shackles to someone, falling down on my knees, and catching his hand, trying to check the vital signs.

To my utter relief, his eyes snap open, widened and fevered. But a cognizance sparks in them, at the sight of me.

'Fea' Nervlis says weakly. I blink away the gathering tears - even in this state, he had enough presence of mind, enough awareness, to realize we are in company of outsiders, and cover for me. My dear, dear friend, I'm so sorry.

‘I knew you would come.’

‘Of course.’ I agree immediately. Nothing would have kept me from saving my friend.

I tell the others to arm themselves, hearing the ruckus on the courtyard. The Inquisition has come, but there’s still a chance someone might appear to deal with the prisoners. They can’t remain defenceless.

‘Wait.’ Nervlis is struck by a wave of cough, before he can continue. ‘There’s a captain’s quarters, above the prison.’

‘I understand.’ I am already moving in the direction of the stairs.

Obviously, the reason he chose to accommodate himself in the prison tower is to have easy access to some… toys. My lips curl in distaste. I’ll take my time with the man, and it will be a true pleasure, skewering him.

Bursting into his quarters, I find the captain fully armed, and ready to head downstairs. Obviously, I can’t allow him into rooms full of potential hostages, nearly defenceless people. Even armed, they are not really in a condition to face off against a skilled opponent; and this man knows what he is doing, I can see from the way he grips his sword. Without much thought I lead him up and outside, pretending to be running away.

It always gets instinct going, chasing after the presumed pray.

The tower has an open roof, not surrounded by the usual battlements - these fortresses used to be treated as signal towers; lighting up fires whenever barbarian invasion happened. Now the network is, of course, in disarray and with holes in it, ever since the borders moved, but the architectonic design remained as it was the day it has been built.

Tevinter have never rebuilt their early warning system, since the borders have been constantly changing, in the years following the initial losses of terrain.

After the first few blows, I know that I am mismatched, yet again, and praise all the time I spent fighting Fenris in the recent years. All these tricks come in handy now. Heavy armour is pretty hard to bypass whenever I use normal blade, instead of magically empowering my hands. And I want to preserve my mana, just in case I need to escape, afterwards. It really is almost like fighting against my white-haired executioner.

Not to mention, I am kind of afraid they might see us from down below - these towers aren’t particularly high. I am not risking revealing myself as a mage to a company full of Templars. Fen might have, somehow, pulled it off, but he has proved himself before them. I did not. Nor do I intend on having to.

I allow the man to push me towards the edge, slowly but surely. I remain constantly conscious of where it is, and when the man finally lunges forward, trying to make me lose my balance, I swiftly dodge, faster than he had expected - and with a swift turn, kick him in the shin, pushing him off the tower. He falls down with a scream.

Unfortunately, he lands heavily on the barracks roof, which is too short of a fall to do any serious damage. I jump after him, intending to finish the job. In case the Inquisitor gets any more of her merciful ideas.

The roof is slippery and uneven. For someone strongly reliant on dodging, nightmare of a condition. I realize I might have taken on more than I can chew, and begin seriously considering backing away, at least to a more even terrain. Before I can proceed with this plan, however, I make a misstep. Loosing my balance, I steel myself internally for a world of pain.

‘What the fuck?! I got you!’ grunts the man with frustration, when his blade slides off my armour, bouncing off impenetrable barrier.

And he is right, he did. His blow would have - should have - cost me a limb. I allow myself a quick look downwards - and sure enough, Fen is fighting below us. I have felt it, his magic, surrounding me but a fraction of second before the hit had come. Now, he doesn’t even acknowledge my grateful astonishment, focused on his opponent. How did he have the time, or awareness to do that?

Emboldened by this, and suddenly feeling a bit more hopeful about everything, I finish off my discouraged opponent swiftly. The battle below is also coming to last few stragglers, and finally, ceasing.

The former prisoners begin walking out of the tower, below me; and I do a backflip, vaulting off the elevation, to join them.

Yes, it’s completely unnecessary, and I’m totally showing off. More, it’s stupid, as I feel the sharp pain in my already strained leg in reaction to the landing. Which is also much heavier, and unsteady, than I would have liked, and when I stand up from the crouching position, I have to keep myself from wobbling.

Brilliant, Fean’Na, fucking brilliant. It seems that Fen’s presence had depleted what was left of your wits. Which you did not have in abundance in the first place, so maybe you should cherish them more, and listen, when your own instincts warn you against a terrible idea.

To my pleasant surprise, Nervlis had managed to pick himself up, and is walking with his own strength. I draw him in a hug, in an uncharacteristic display of affection for me, whispering softly.

‘Words can’t express how glad I was to see you alive.’

‘Careful there.’ I am sure he is smirking into my hair. ‘Don’t get maudling on me, or I’ll start believing there’s a real heart beating there, underneath the cold calculation and ruthless logic.’

I can’t help a startled laugh at the quip, as I pull away.

‘Think the leader’ll let me have some sick leave?’ There’s a humour in his voice, and I smirk slyly.

‘Oh, I’m sure she can be convinced.’ Getting more serious, I add. ‘Seriously though, try to keep yourself from such situations in the future. Next time, I might be this crucial week late.’

‘I’ll endeavour to avoid deadly traps, if that’s your recommendation.’ He nods seriously, and another smile tugs at my lips.

The Inquisitor and her companions are doing a casualty check, in the middle of the courtyard. We look at each other, and I tilt my head, indicating that Nervlis should be the one to deal with this. He raises his eyebrow in reproof, before sighing, and taking charge of the situation, while I quietly fade into the background.

A few meaningless pleasantries are exchanged, before my best spy gets to the point.

‘We are very grateful for your assistance, Fea told me all about it. The Wings will find a way to repay you.’ He says formally, and I glow in quiet praise at the way he handled the situation. Without any explicit commitments, but still, expressing our intentions. I wouldn’t have been able to do it any better.

Once again, I feel a bit of regret that I can’t make him my second without seriously fucking up things with Valeria. He is a natural.

‘What are your plans, now?’ Inquires, out of nowhere, Fen, and my insides wind into a tight ball. Why would he be interested in that?

‘I guess we will be heading to Nevarra City. We have responsibility to these people, here.’ Nervlis is so surprised he actually responds truthfully. Or maybe he is just curious why he is being asked about it, and decided the sure way of finding out is actually replying.

‘I am sure the Inquisitor would like to see things through to the end, see people to safety herself.’ Says Fen in this measured tone of voice of his, with which he is making a suggestion which really isn’t a suggestion. I’ve rarely ever been on the receiving side of this particular tone of his, and I have always detested it, whenever it happened. So damn condescending manner, and this fucking certainty of his that he knows better.

But the Dalish woman has a decidedly different reaction, and lights up in happiness.

‘Of course! I would love to! Oh, and we could see these mausoleums in Nevarra, learn more about the necromancy, while we are there.’ She says, glancing at Fen. ‘I know I need more training.’

Fen nods his approval, and she positively beams at him.

I cannot look at this anymore, and turn my gaze away. Nervlis casts me a searching glance, and I shrug, helplessly.

There’s nothing I would like more than to say no. But I cannot allow my personal feelings to affect how I fulfill my obligations, and the truth is, additional escort would guarantee us a safe passage. And these people, I owe them all a big debt. They helped keep Nervlis alive, in a very dire circumstances. I would be damned if I didn’t repay it, to the best of my abilities.

Fortunately, even with the sick and wounded, the journey is but a few days.

We are delivered right under the door of our center of operations in Nevarra City by them, and truth to be told, I am quite uncomfortable with the Inquisition knowing where it is. I decide to switch the place, the moment we have opportunity. We needed larger building anyways.

‘Master Nervlis. Fea.’ Local division leader greets us, a bit unnerved. ‘We have letter from Antiva, to Quicksilver, but all of our couriers are on the road. Could we ask you to, possibly…’

‘Of course. It is no trouble at all.’ Says Nervlis, taking the envelope from the man. On the side, I order a replacement of my missing throwing knives to be done, and finally, we go to the main office, with the man quickly excusing himself away.

‘I think we made him nervous.’ I note with a slight smile. Nervlis shrugs, throwing himself on the couch, and sighing in relief. He is quite wearied, by the journey, still suffering from bouts of fever and cough, his wounds barely closed. Even after multiple healing potions.

I pick up the letter, and without remorse, look at its contents. It is for me, after all - the other me.

_‘So. You have stolen my most talented apprentice. And for what. Spying on some upstart religious organisation? Such a waste of her talents._

_Oh, just kidding. Don’t frown. I know you are frowning right now._

Indeed, I am. I allow myself a quick laugh at the playful tone. It is a pleasant diversion, after the recent, completely nerve wrecking, days. I still haven’t completely come to terms with my feelings.

_I know that you consider knowing what’s happening everywhere as equally important as my inventions are to me. I would say you have an obsession, but that would be calling the kettle black._

_Not to mention that Dagna was long past her mastery, and she stuck around simply because she had no better idea how to make herself useful. Not that she wasn’t – she had helped a lot, in fact, with her calibrations of our instruments during the experiments on saar gamek._

_You will be happy to know our solution is near completion._

_Dagna was very happy to be trusted with an assignment from you, and I had done what you asked and tried to hide away her Wings’ roots around here. Unfortunately, I know for certain that an acquaintance of mine is involved with the Inquisition. He is positioned highly enough to get a hold on the privileged information, so if he ever comes digging, he will find out the truth. I will attempt to discourage him from that, but our best bet remains Dagna keeping out of his way. Preferably, out of sight. I have warned her, before she left._

_Stay safe, and play nice._

_Bianca’_

I jerk at the soft knock on the door, and quickly put the letter back in the envelope, hiding it in the inner pocket of my coat.

‘Excuse me, there’s someone asking for Fea, outside.’ A very frightened youth enters the room, and timidly delivers the message.

I raise my eyebrows, trying not to be hopeful, but failing.

‘Lead him to the reception room, if you will.’ I order, avoiding Nervlis’ questioning gaze. No, I’ll not speak it out loud, I don’t want to jinx it. Besides, I’m being silly. I hate being silly, losing my composure, and **he** is the only one to make it happen so easily. Effortlessly.

I do not know how I feel when it turns out it is, indeed, Fen, when I enter the room. Lost, I guess. Apprehensive. Hopeful.

There’s only one reason why he would have come. Still, I wait for him to speak it out loud, and seconds pass, as we look at one another, calmly. Or, in my case, pretending to be calm.

I have so many questions at the tip of my tongue, my head is bursting from them. Why hasn't he looked for me? Why is he with the Inquisition? Why does he feel so much like a mortal? Why why why.

But the most important thing, the reason why I don’t say a word, is this terrible, terrifying uncertainty. Does he still care for me, at all? Even a tiny bit would be fine. I could work with that. Just…

I’m being pathetic, now, I scold myself, mentally. Yes, I missed him something terrible. Still, it’s not like the world would end if he didn’t?

Right?

Finally, he sighs. And asks softly.

‘Would you come with us? I… We could really use your help.’

Looking into his stormy eyes, I still can’t read him. I am just as uncertain and confused as I was before. Just as fearful. But, in the end, none of this matters. Because he had, indeed, asked. He made this step in my direction, extended his hand. Even though I had rejected him, in the past, thrice, he had still found it in him to ask. My wolf.

‘I will.’ I reply, just as softly, turning my head, unable to hold his gaze anymore.

Suddenly, I recall words spoken during drunken stupor, almost half a year ago. _‘Unless the Dread Wolf himself asks me...’_

Somewhere, somehow, I know that the Creators are laughing at me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Promised the chapter, and delivered. You sure know how to motivate me. I’ll try to have next one by Wednesday, but this time, no promises. It is another important one.
> 
> Actually, now that I think of it, all of the chapters from now on might be important. Cause I’m finally writing about Fen, again. My Fen.
> 
> C’mon people. Did you really think I would make it easy on them? They haven’t seen each other. In. 2000. Years. Give or take. That’s bound to create a barrier between them, and the letters simply aren’t enough to convey all the changes happening in a person. Especially since Fean’Na’s letters were heavily edited. And did you think Fen wrote everything about himself? Think again.  
> So. Not so happy of a reunion. ^^ 
> 
> Somehow, I get a feeling as if at the same time, nothing, and a lot, happened in this chapter. Do you think so, too?


	35. Lonely Pride

**Lonely Pride**

Fen doesn’t make things any more awkward than necessary, and after my declaration, nods in acknowledgement, and departs.

Leaving me with not so small of a conundrum to solve - what am I to do with my Wings? I am forced to admit, before myself, that I have stopped trusting Valeria when it comes to leading them properly during my absence. At the same time, I am not yet quite at the point where I want to take her position away permanently.

I look at the grey ceiling of the room, as if it could provide me the  answers, and think. How to deal with Valeria. Think. How to even tell them I am joining the Inquisition. And think some more. How to ensure everything runs smoothly during my absence.

Because this time, I can feel it, it will be a long one.

Sometime afterwards, Nervlis enters, and brings me tea. His settling down the cup, which clangs a bit against the stone table, startles me out of my musings. I look up at him, and he cocks his head to the side in a wordless question.

To my dismay, I find no words in reply. I simply do not know how to begin.

After the uncomfortable silence prolongs, Nervlis sighs, and says,

‘I guess you are trying to come up with a way to tell me you are joining the Inquisition.’

I gasp softly, in surprise.

‘Give me some credit here, Quicksilver. The man who went out was one of them, and considering the lost look on your face, there’s only one thing which could throw you for a loop. What made you change your mind?’ My friend remains collected, holding a cup of his own in his hands, warming them up.

‘I did not. Not exactly.’ I focus on the immediate question, deciding to simply go with it. Nervlis has figured out the core of it, already.

‘Why, then?’ He takes a careful sip of a warm liquid, but his eyes narrow, watchful of my every reaction.

‘This is a private business of mine, between me and that man.’ I reply a bit defensively. ‘I do not want Wings really involved, or, gods forbid, allied, in any way, with the Inquisition. I might ask for some favours, from time to time, but otherwise, keep out, and away, from it.’

I can see it won’t fly with him, even as he nods in confirmation of my orders. I could leave it at that, but, I need him to keep Valeria in check. There’s no one else I could entrust this task with, and so, I need to convince him it is more than just another whim of mine.

There are days I wish Wings realized that my whims are never without reason. But then, I would need to explain the causes behind them, and I prefer to keep things the way they are.

‘I owe a debt to him.’ I add reluctantly. ‘My life, my freedom, my sanity. I couldn’t say no, when he asked.’

Of course, Nervlis knows that there’s much more to the story. But what I really appreciate about him, is that he accepts this as reason enough, because for him, it would be.

I finally got a bit of history a few Satinalia ago, how he and Archivist met; when we were reminiscing the old man. Apparently, when Nervlis was still young and stupid, he got involved in a lyrium smuggling ring. Very, very dangerous, and strongly persecuted in Tevinter - lyrium dealings are Archon’s domain. And obviously, the ruler does not appreciate anything which could affect his personal wealth.

Archivist was one of the Archon's agents then, part of secret service forces. He took pity on the young slave boy, and shielded him from the consequences. Nervlis has never forgotten whom he owed his life to, and had spent years, repaying that debt. In time, they became friends, and partners. And then, he had fallen into that slavers’ trap, and Archivist sent us after him, to get him, and the others, back.

My friend looks at me in considerate silence for a while, before nodding, as if in confirmation, to himself.

‘I’ll try to break it down to Valeria, somehow.’ Nervlis says, and I feel a surge of gratitude for him.

‘By the way.’ I recall one more thing I wanted to discuss with him. ‘What the fuck were you thinking?! I know that I can drive you guys pretty hard, but I am not unreasonable! Whyever would you go on and try tackling the damn fortress without any backup? I do not expect miracles; and certainly, I did not expect you to throw your life away for the sake of finding the Pavus boy!’

Well, I can be totally hypocritical at times, I admit. I do not expect miracles from anyone - aside from myself. And, of course, I am in a pretty downcast mood, whenever life proves to me, yet again, that I suck, as a miracle worker.

Nervlis blushes a bit, clearly mortified.

‘Actually…’ He coughs a bit trying to cover for his discomfort, and clears his throat. ‘Actually, I had no such intentions.’

‘What happened then?’

‘I was near the mine where the slaves were working; I wanted to check, what the hell was there.’ He begins. ‘By the way, it was red lyrium. It is a very strange, ugly substance - made all of us sick.’

I nod, prompting him on, while noting the information for later confirmation and analysis. I’ve never heard of red lyrium, before.

‘And then, I tripped over a ward. Unusual, tainted kind of ward, which I hadn’t felt until the trap snapped over me.’

‘You know, I haven’t activated a ward in the past fifteen years, at the very least.’ He adds after a moment, with reflection.

I can believe that. Nervlis has hidden magical potential. In times of Arlathan, he would be perfectly capable of utilizing Fade in the air to assist him in numerous ways; now, however, it is far too weak for achieving anything of note. My spy had, instinctively, without any assistance, developed his magical awareness, basing it on this spark within him. That’s why he is the best at what he does; because no one can quite compare when it comes to traps and wards.

‘Red lyrium, and tainted magic.’ I mutter to myself. ‘You know, I like this Venatori business less and less. I guess there must be some truth to the reports of the Blighted Magister, who had supposedly attacked Haven.’

‘Watch your back, Quicksilver. You are going to be right in the middle of this.’ I see a flicker of worry in his eyes.

‘You know I always come out on top.’ I smirk with confidence I do not feel.

But then, this time, I do not have to handle the crisis alone; more, I can actually leave it to others, for a change. Fen’ll be there. Regardless of my uncertainty in regards to our current status in relation to one another, I know I can trust him to handle things.

It is a reassuring awareness, which I haven’t felt in forever. I guess I’ve never really trusted anyone else quite like I trust him.

We help settling the people freed from Venatori prison. Most of them are feeling quite lost, a common reaction for the newly freed slaves; a few wish to go to the Inquisition, which is fighting with their former oppressors. I do not stop them, because their lives are their own, finally, to do away with, if they so desire.

There are a lot of instructions I have, for my people in Minrathous. There’s Dorian, still to be found, although, when I hear of a Tevinter mage who has joined the Inquisition on the eve of the disaster, I have a nagging suspicion who might it be. Well, I’ll be able to confirm it, one way or another, on my own, soon enough.

I also have instructions for Bethany, who was left in charge of our center of operations in Orlais, after Lorian’s death.

She was protesting the appointment a fair bit, averse to long-time separation from Arissar, who remains in Rivain, most of the time. I remember asking her, who should go instead.

‘How about Isabela?’ She had proposed, after a bit of wavering.

I looked at her with plain ridicule.

‘Really. Isabela. Bethany, as much as I adore the woman, off the sea, I wouldn’t trust her with a kitten to be kept fed once a day.’ I shook my head. ‘She is a brilliant captain, I’ll grant you that, but I always get the impression that she leaves all of her leadership talents and **wits** aboard, and gets provocative and confrontational onshore.’

‘How about Fenris? You like Fenris.’ She glanced at my face, and grimaced. ‘Right. Forget I said that.’

As much as I really like my Ghost, he just isn’t a suitable candidate for leadership. Second in command, sure; the scary, glaring from the side, and keeping people fit and obedient, kind of second. But he simply doesn’t inspire loyalty, people are too afraid of him.

And so, Bethany, in spite of her reluctance, was unable to come up with a fitting alternative to herself, and took over Lorian’s duties. I remember consoling her that it was only until she had trained someone to fill her shoes.

She merely glared at me; somehow, not very comforted by that.

I have no idea why. I mean, it’s only a couple of years, at most? And it’s not like Arissar won’t drop by, I am not stupid to forbid him from doing so.

I am not stupid enough to believe even for a second, that he would listen. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned pretty thoroughly, it is to not give orders you know won’t be followed. There’s nothing that shoots down one’s authority more.

Now, I want Bethany to act as a relay for the information from Minrathous. Even though I am delegating my duties, I want to keep my finger on pulse, so to speak. Make sure everything is going smoothly. But I am not about to risk my identity as Fea by having the reports delivered to the Inquisition’s fortress - I mean, it is kind of hard to downplay that sort of thing.

And there’s simply no other choice for me, but to go as my alter ego. Ben’Hassrath involvement with the Inquisition, while a fairly recent thing, is profound enough for me to want to avoid them; or  risk a bloodbath. Valotaar asked me to try and keep Iron Bull, Hissrad, alive. I want to try fulfilling his plea, and that means I simply can’t go as Wings’ leader. And, coincidentally, one of the people responsible for the largest loss Qunari had suffered ever since their last invasion attempt had failed.

And then, there are other concerns. Which all leads to one thing - I can’t support Fen as Quicksilver, not at this point. It might change - but I doubt it will.

Finally, there’s no delaying the inevitable. Last check on my gear, all orders and reports in Nervlis’ hands. Instructions spoken, goodbyes exchanged, and I’m off, to the tavern where the Inquisition made their stop.

To say they are pleased to see me would be telling a complete and utter lie. Blackwall looks at me completely dispassionately. The Inquisitor is clearly not over her outrage at my killing her prisoner. Cassandra looks at me with plain suspicion. And Fen is his nondescript, Fen-like self.

Unperturbed by the cold reception, I state my wish to go with them.

‘What a sudden attitude turnaround.’ Drawls out the warrior female.

‘What, Seeker, don’t you believe in my honest intentions?’

The female simply scoffs disdainfully.

So maybe taunting her isn’t the wisest move, but I am fucking **terrible** at playing meek and cowered. One of the many reasons why Nervlis is the better spy of the two of us, in spite of the advantages my magic gives me. I am simply unable to swallow my pride for long enough - the stunt on Par Vollen was stretching my talents as it was; and it wasn’t a very sophisticated piece of acting.

‘I’ll be watching you very carefully, Wing.’ She declares haughtily, marching off with a huff. I roll my eyes at the overly dramatic display - she could really ease up on the theatrics. But I guess I was asking for it.

They spend a few more days in Nevarra, going to mausoleums, and visiting Inquisitor’s mentor, Viuus Anaxas. The ways of the Mortalitasi have always creeped me out, a little, but I can only applaud the girl’s wish to study her techniques more closely. I know Fen does, too.

Me? I spend time covertly observing Fen, because obviously, it’s what interests me the most in the whole damn city. I’ve been here enough times, for the novelty to wear off, even if I remain as appreciative as ever of the towering mausoleums.

I reach the conclusion that he is hiding his identity away under this mask of distant apostate, wary and mistrustful of everyone. And while obviously, revealing anything close to the truth would have been inconceivable, I dislike seeing him like that. So withdrawn and aloof. Barely a smile on his face. Not that he was ever particularly expressive, but now, he shows as much emotion as an immovable rock.

The question is, how much of it is a mask, and what had become part of him, in the years we’ve been apart. I am worried that the answer might be closer to the second option.

Though, I see shadows of his former self, displayed, at times. And if the Shems weren’t so easily deceived by what’s on the surface - which I have used to my own advantage plenty of times - they would have noticed the inconsistencies in his tale. Like, how come he is so knowledgeable about everything. It speaks for my wolf’s self-awareness that he didn’t even attempt at playing ignoramus; knowing that he could never pull off anything so against his nature. But the depth of it, the detail, the breadth, it’s all too much for whom he is impersonating.

Similarly, I would never try to fake timidness, for example, or humbleness. Neither does he, to be fair, but he manages to keep it somewhat under wraps by going with aloofness.

Same could be said of his mannerism, always perfectly on spot, suitable to every situation. The courtly habits, the unerring politeness, even when faced with outright boorishness, are also things which should be easily spotted. And yet, no one suspects a thing.

Obviously, the young Dalish is completely infatuated with him; her attention fixated on his every word and gesture. He is, in her eyes, both mentor, and most valuable advisor; and without a doubt, she would like him as her lover. I am quite certain they are not at the stage, yet; although certainly not for her lack of trying.

Now, as to what Fen thinks about her, the jury is still out. At the very least, he treats her with more warmth than anyone else - yes, myself included; and for my wolf, that’s actually saying quite a lot. He has never been careless with such things, and, while my heart constricts at the very thought, I very much doubt he had changed in this regard.

Finally, we depart to this Skyhold of theirs, surrounded by a contingent of soldiers. Unused to travelling in such crowd, specifically, crowd of almost hostile strangers, I edge towards the back of the cavalcade. I have never felt quite this lonely in a sea of people ever since the Crimson Rebellion - Exalted March, in the universally accepted version of events - ended. Now, and then, I was misunderstood and criticised for my way of thinking, for my outlook.

I must say, I did not miss this kind of alienation. But of course, I would never let it affect my resolve - again, I reach to my pride, and hold my head high, and look at them with the same disdainful superiority which is levied upon me. They have no right to judge me.

We travel through Orlais swiftly, since we do not wish to attract attention from either of the warring sides. Even if, after initial period of constant strikes and offensive actions, the conflict has cooled down, for the moment.

When we finally reach the imposing fortress where the Inquisition has taken refuge after Haven’s fall, I can’t help a shocked gasp.

This used to be one of Fen’s citadels, I am certain, even though I’ve never been here during the Twilight. I can feel the residue magic of the broken wards, all but screaming Fen to me. There are telltale signs of Elvhen craftsmanship in the stone, even if it is more bulky, suitable for war purposes, than their typical ethereal style. It must have been built after I’ve gone back home, because I’ve also never heard anything of it before.

Well, there’s a definite answer to my questions about Fen’s feelings for the Inquisitor Ellana. I firmly squash down the sudden burst of pain in my heart; I’ve already suspected that he cared for her. Now, it is simply beyond doubt.

People disperse to their quarters, and I find myself assigned mine. I throw my stuff into the rooms, and climb the battlements, to appreciate the view, and gather my thoughts, a bit. That’s where the legendary sister Nightingale finds me, and we discuss particularities of my assistance to their cause. I begin with stating firmly that my presence does not, by any means, indicate **Wings** support, and that while I was allowed to take it up as a private business, there remain some duties, which I’ll be expected to fulfill.

She nods without much surprise. Well, mine, I mean, Quicksilver’s, letter, did not leave any uncertainty in regards to Wings unwillingness to get entangled in this.

‘Considering that you do not bring in Wings support, why would we want you here?’

If she expected me to be flustered by the question, she is disappointed, when I reply confidently.

‘I am one of the best scouts Wings have to offer, and definitely the best infiltrator.’ And there’s no exaggeration in my words. Of course, at least part of my potential hinges on me being able to use my magic; but I am not about to mention **that**. I am, definitely, keeping it a secret; if no for other reason, it’s  because that’s one of the most important distinctions, separating Fea and Quicksilver. The reason why no one suspects them to be one person - one uses her powers for blindsiding, overwhelming victories; the other does not.

‘I am aware of the tension between Ben’Hassrath and the Wings. Will that become a problem?’

I laugh, unable to help myself. Really, **tension** \- what a masterful understatement. She looks at me patiently, while I dry my eyes, and recollect myself. It’s good to laugh again; I feel as if I haven’t done that in a while.

‘Unless they make it one, it won’t.’

There’s a cold, calculating look in her eyes, before she asks, with steel resounding in her voice.

‘Why are you **really** here?’

Obviously, she won’t be as easily dissuaded as Cassandra, with a mere taunt, so I weigh my answer carefully.

‘Because I was asked to come.’ She would have found about it anyway; if she doesn’t know already.

‘By Solas.’ She glances at me, and I shrug neutrally. So, she has known. Colour me surprised. ‘And that was reason enough for you to abandon your other duties.’ The incredulity makes it more of a question than a statement.

‘Yes.’ My tone makes it clear I won’t elaborate on that, and after a moment of tense battle of wills, she inclines her head in agreement.

‘Report to scout Harding, she will be your immediate superior. Welcome to the Inquisition, scout Fea.’ Her last words are spoken with ironic smile, since both of us are aware I am not, in fact, welcome, here. At least until I prove myself; obviously, my rebuff of their offer months ago was not well received, and Wings are seen perceived unfavourably, here. But they can’t, really, turn away one of my talents and potential connections; even if I insist the Wings will be kept separate from the whole thing, both of us know I’ll still have access to some information which she would love to get her hands on.

And that’s without her being aware of my true position within my organization. Creators, what a mess. She really is as dangerous as they say, sister Nightingale; I will have to really watch my every word, from now on.

Marvellous.

In the next two weeks I find out the layout of the fortress, as well as the fact that most of the so-called companions to the Inquisitor; her Inner Circle, have been sent on multiple errands all over Thedas. The place requires a lot of repairs, and other arrangements. To my utmost relief, Iron Bull and the Chargers are among the number to be gone, and I spend the initial, adjustment period, blissfully without their presence.

I have a hard enough time as it is. Being cooped up in the walls of the fortress, nearly enemy territory, surrounded by a whole lot of nothing. I like my wanderings, and I like wilderness, but this is much different. Especially since I feel so very lonely.

I never thought it would actually matter, to me. But I am surrounded by people who view me with partial suspicion, and the silence in the air is almost tangible. Whenever I enter the tavern, conversations stop, and I leave, soon enough, chased away by the oppressive atmosphere. It certainly doesn’t help that the Inquisitor, beloved by her people, is clearly put off by me. Not that I care about it - but they do.

Whenever I feel like being honest with myself, I admit it wouldn’t have mattered one whit, if not for the fact that me and Fen do not talk to one another, at all. I would love distraction, any distraction, to avoid facing this fact.

We are unable to breach this gap between us, unable to somehow overcome this awkwardness and uneasiness we feel around each other - because I can tell from the way he tenses up, if nothing else, he is not **completely** indifferent. Which is a relief, of a sort, but does not help resolving the problem.

And then, there’s this damn pride of ours, which makes it hard to begin the conversation, because neither one of us likes to stumble, or feel cornered.

I guess that’s the problem with me and Fen… Solas. Both of us have a tendency to clam up, keep things close to the chest. It didn’t use to be a problem, when we knew each other so well we could read between the lines, see through the gestures and facial expressions. It is a problem now, when I see a stranger, and I would wager anything, he sees the very same thing. We are simply clumsy, dancing around, trying not to overstep the invisible lines and boundaries, trying to ignore the elephant in the room.

And we are both so incredibly socially inept, hiding it away under strict politeness and official courtesy. That’s how we have always been, and I saw nothing in Fen indicating change in this regard. Loners, by nature and choice, forced between people. Had we been in the wilds, alone, away from others, maybe things would be easier.

A few days after I come to this realization, opportunity comes knocking on the door. I look at the evening sky, wrought out and miserable, and it takes me a few moments before I recognize a familiar pattern of the night sky.

I suddenly feel a ray of hope, and quickly stand up, to try and find my wolf. This is the chance I was looking for. Now, let’s not screw it up.

Fortunately, I spot Fen up on the walls. Had he been in his rooms, I would have lost my courage the moment I had to enter them, I am sure of that. My steps slow down as I near him, feeling shy and nervous. I haven’t been like that since… I don’t even remember, anymore. He has always made me feel things no one else did.

He turns around, at the sound of my steps, his hearing as impeccable as ever. Seeing my uncertainty, he tilts his head in silent invitation to join him. With a bit more confidence, I come closer, and inquire.

‘Do you have any plans for tonight… Solas?’ His current name rolls off my tongue with just the barest of pauses, but Fen doesn’t remark on my slip.

‘No.’ He says shortly, and even though he doesn’t ask, I know he wants me to elaborate. Or, at least, the Fen I knew once would, since this… Solas remains as much of a mystery to me as ever.

‘It’s the Hunter’s Moon. Don’t tell me you haven’t realized.’

‘Ah.’ Fen appears thoughtful. ‘I did not, in fact. It has been a while since I last celebrated it.’

He looks at his long, sculptured fingers, and I ask quickly, before my temporary determination flees.

‘Would you…?’ I am still unable to finish the plea for him to accompany me, but he takes pity on me, and replies to the question hanging in the air.

‘It would be my pleasure.’ Fen's eyes warm up, and he bows with flourish. It is a completely proper response, if one considers our past stature; and yet, if anyone saw us from below, it would look just strange - him, in rags, bowing like to a royalty, and myself, in a fucking leather armour, with just as much formality in response.

We take horses from the stables, and leaving message with the guards that we shall return by morning, cross the drawbridge.

‘So, what are we hunting tonight?’

A completely natural, expected question, and yet, my insides flip.

My throat becomes dry, and I swallow nervously. Finally, refusing to look at him, I reply, my voice a barely audible whisper.

‘How about… memories?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I was so happy with so many favourable comments from you, I actually got to writing with a lot of energy, I had over half of a chapter done very quickly. As a result, it is two days early. A proof of my love and devotion for my loyal readers. ^^ I am so proud of myself, I really got into the groove recently.  
> I am glad you liked their reunion, and my Fen. He is great, isn’t he? I absolutely adore him.
> 
> I guess I have answered some of your questions with this chapter, about the romances in the air. I’ll be getting pretty liberal with them, however, so don’t rely on the Inquisition storyline to predict what will happen. I am going very much AU.
> 
> As to the question whether Fean’Na becomes a companion - well. You’ll see for yourself. 
> 
> Dear WolfenWings, unfortunately, I can’t really answer your questions without spoiling parts of the story, but rest assured, there are no coincidences. I think very carefully about everything Fen says and does, because he is one of the focal points of the story - I mean, even when he was asleep, Fean’Na thought of him frequently, and fretted over his possible reactions to stuff she did.


	36. Cautious Pride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A reminder, in case you have forgotten: Elvhen is indicated by the italics.

**Cautious Pride**

Hunter’s Moon, devoted to Andruil, is a single night every two years, when stars align in a specific constellation. We called it: the Hunter Goddess. Hunter’s Moon used to be a ceremony merely about stalking prey, and delivering the finishing blow; the more dangerous and elusive the target, the greater glory to the hunter. And then, Andruil met Ghilan’Nain. Sweet Ghilan’Nain, incapable of doing any harm against another living being, consciously. It was for her sake, that the tradition was changed, adjusted.

It became more about the hunt itself, about the chase, rather than the kill. Years passed, and the People became more creative with their aims and targets. Some continued with the old approach, stalking and killing, celebrating Andruil; others celebrated the Hunter’s Moon, itself, while still dedicating their success to the goddess. Love, glory, dream, miracle, faith, desire… It all varied, went further and further away from the original concept.

My intention, and dear wish, is for us to find our way back to the the times before I broke everything. To, for a moment, forget all these years that divided us, made us different people. To be Wolf and his Pride, again. Just for the night.

And maybe, possibly, use this connection from the past to bridge the insurmountable gap between us.

And yet, when Fen looks at me, without judgement, but quietly, clearly surprised, my conviction falters. My cheeks colour, and struggling to maintain steadiness of my voice, I say,

‘You know, let’s forget about that. We can simply go on a regular hunt.’

‘Let us not.’ Counters my wolf immediately, and unwittingly, I steal a glance at him. His eyes have a strange glow to them, indiscernible for me, when he resolutely says. ‘Memories it is.’

I feel blood rushing to my head, and a silly smile sprouting on my lips. I am beyond glad, and relieved, that he accepted my suggestion. So very relieved. Unable to help it, I opt to hasten tempo of the ride, instead - and hope the natural flush from the wind and exertion covers for my lapse of control over my emotions.

Fen keeps up easily, just as practiced of a rider as myself. For a while, we journey in silence, but then, the mountain trail grows more unsteady, forcing me to slow down again. In spite of my aim, I am uncertain how to even begin - the silence between us just as profound as before, even away from the restrictions placed on us by company of outsiders. Trying to keep myself from staring at him, I look up, instead - and gasp in amazement.

 _‘Fen, would you look at that!’_ Forgetting myself, I speak in Elvhen, astounded.

I haven’t seen the aurora for ages. The numerous lights, glittering in the night sky, of many colours and forming elusive shapes, beautiful even while lacking Fade green. Only seen in the mountain regions - and somehow, I’ve never been to the mountains at the right time to see them. Without much thought, I jump off, and lead the horse off the trail, and up the slope, and once the road becomes too treacherous, I tie the reins to a tree stump, and proceed on my own. I am barely aware that Fen is following me, as I focus all of my attention on the sky; and I only remember it, once I lose my balance on the slippery stone, and he reaches out to steady me.

Right, walking while looking up, when on an uneven terrain, is not a particularly brilliant idea. I smile apologetically at him.

 _‘My apologies, Fen. I’ll try to pay more attention._ ’ And, suddenly remembering the situation, I grimace. _‘Ah. Sorry. It’s supposed to be Solas now, isn’t it?’_

 _‘Don’t trouble yourself. I would hate for you to strain your memory needlessly._ ’ But the jab is lighthearted, and softly spoken, and there’s a slight tilt to his lips, so I do not take his words too seriously.

I feel another surge of joy, allowed to call him the way I used to. Nonetheless, I pretend to take offence at his jibe, but he just looks at me knowingly. My lips twitch slightly at the way he shakes his head in bemusement, and finally, unable to contain my mirth anymore, I burst out laughing. This is my wolf. No matter how different, no matter how jaded, his core remained the same.

I do not know what changed, when it changed, but suddenly, he is not as much of a stranger, anymore. Somehow, in our reminiscent walk in memory lane, travelling like we did before, without any particular aim or goal, we found our equilibrium, again. Maybe it was my instinctive use of Elvhen. Maybe it was the fact that I extended my hand. Maybe, because both of us wanted this. Maybe, all of it combined. Or something else altogether.

We sit on the edge of abyss, atop one of the mountains, our horses bound below, and leisurely admire the stars. The silence stretching between us isn’t oppressive, anymore, it’s comfortable and comforting, because I longed for his presence, and I have it again, by my side. There are many questions left unanswered. Many things, separating us, still. But the first step has been taken, and now, I believe we will overcome them, one by one.

 _‘Forgive me._ ’ Fen says suddenly, and I turn to face him. He is stretched on the ground, hands on the back of his head, in apparent nonchalance. Yet, being this close, within reach of my hand, I can see easily through the artificiality of it, how faux it is. His muscles are all tensed up, his tone too calm. And he refuses to meet my eyes. I nearly, actually reach out, as my mind screams to try and lessen the tension he feels - but I stay my hand, and aside from the nervous twitch, there’s no betraying my intentions. Nothing in his behaviour had indicated he would welcome this sort of attention from me, and I really do not want to make things awkward between us, again.  And right after I have managed to, miraculously, get us comfortable with each other again.

I dislike the thought that it might be, quite likely would be, a trespass. His relationship with the Inquisitor indicates a degree of closeness which would attribute **her** the right to comfort him.  

In the end, I do nothing. I do not even ask what does he mean, exactly, what was he apologizing for. I’m pretty sure he means the whole picture, and I do not think the fault lies entirely with him. Especially since I was the one to break us, first.

Finally, I turn away, and carefully not looking at him, to avoid putting any more pressure, I reply.

 _‘We are fine, Fen.’_ Because we are. In the way it really counts - I can rely on him, and he can rely on me. With everything.

The remainder of it - defining what we are, what we really mean to each other, will come with time. What we want to rebuild - and what we want to create - is something I will not rush, because we have all the time in the world, now. And I would rather wait centuries, than let it fall to pieces under the strain.

On the way back, me and Fen exchange opinions on the current state of affairs; carefully avoiding breaching any personal ground, but still, I relate some of my adventures, and he comments on a few things which he had encountered when we were apart. To my joy, I discover he has remained of similar opinions, as he was before - maybe became a bit more ruthless and determined, than what I remember. But I am pretty sure the impression in this regard is quite mutual.

I do not tell him that I’m Quicksilver. I’m nearly certain he has figured it out, already, and I do not want to go on explaining why I want my Wings away from this war. Especially since some part of my reasoning is very much rooted in my past experiences during the Andrastian Upraising, and I do not think this is the right moment to share my pain and bloodied hands. Not so soon after we just found each other.

It is mid-morning, before we return to the fortress, and people are already up and working, when we cross the gates again. There are some new arrivals on the courtyard, merchants with wares, and wagons of supplies. The Inquisitor is speaking with a dwarf with a crossbow on his back; after a moment of scrutiny, I recognize him as Varric Tethras, whom I knew as a companion to Hawke. I recall now, that my spies have informed me of his involvement with the Inquisition, and Bianca’s letter almost burns in my pocket. Of course. She must have meant him, and his elusive connections, when she spoke of the danger of Dagna’s discovery.

Inquisitor Ellana pauses mid-sentence, observing our arrival with a frown, and badly concealed jealousy. Really, the girl has a completely open face, expressing her emotions way too clearly to her surroundings. The dwarf also turns around, clearly intrigued what had captured her attention so thoroughly.

‘Chuckles!’ He greets us with enthusiasm, and for a moment, I feel lost. What in the void? But then I see a concealed exasperation of Fen’s, and it hits me. Tethras meant my wolf.

The nickname is so absurd, all the while, being so incredibly apt, I nearly choke, trying to contain my amusement.

_‘He really calls you that?’_

_‘Precisely.’_ Comes Fen’s clipped response, and this time, I am unable to stop the honest laugh. This is just priceless.

Fen is unimpressed with my merriment, and raises his eyebrow in quiet reproof. But that only amuses my further, even though I know that he is getting a bit irritated with me right now.

‘My, but you are positively animated!’ notes the dwarf with interest, and Dalish girl darkens, at the observation. I think it speaks a lot about my restraint, that I do not gloat. Even though I really feel like doing so. ‘And who is your lovely companion? I do not believe I’ve had the pleasure before.’

My laughter subsides, while Fen gracefully dismounts, and holds my horse down for me. A reminiscent of the times when I was a much poorer equestrian. It is, of course, unnecessary now, but these types of gentlemanly gestures are part of his thoughtful, deliberate self; I loved them before, and I love them now.

I swing my leg over, and land on the other one, as always careful to put my weight on the healthy limb. The pain is a barely discernible twinge, after all those years, but I strive to avoid the unnecessary suffering whenever possible.

‘Fea of the Wings, Master Tethras. And the honour is all mine.’ I reply, echo of my mirth ringing in my melodious voice. The dwarf nods, as does the Inquisitor. She remains unfalteringly polite, even if the pinched look on her face is telling how much she dislikes my presence here, or, to be more precise, next to Fen. Fen’s influence, I guess.  

‘I know you.’ Says a voice behind my back, suddenly, and I nearly jump, thrown off balance. It hasn’t happened… well, for a very long time, that someone had managed to catch me unawares. The recent weeks were a painful lesson, for me, that I’m far from the controlled, disciplined person I believed myself to be. First, this whole thing with Fen, which had me going around in circles, battling my feelings again, and now, I allow someone to fucking sneak up on me. Unforgivable, and it would have cost me my life, had it been a Qunari spy.

I spin around rapidly, my hands instinctively reaching to the weapon holsters, and breathe in relief, once I see the being in front of me.

Fortunately, it turns out to be merely a spirit. It kind of explains why I haven’t realized he was there - he is not, not really, hanging on the edge of corporeal existence. Doesn’t make it any more excusable, though - Fen’s presence has gotten me really distracted - and I tell myself firmly to get it together. Or I’ll be in seriosus trouble, the moment Chargers return.

‘Compassion?’ I ask in confusion, trying to understand what is it that I have before me. He feels like one, and yet, he does not.

‘He is not. Not anymore.’ Says Fen, coming up and standing next to me. I feel a bit reassured, having his presence next to me; one can never be certain with the spirits. They see too much, know too much, and oftentimes, reveal too much. My wolf is so much of a blinding existence, he acts as a shield, from the too perceptive ones; he always did.

‘What is he, then?’ I do not mind Fen’s brevity; even if he used to be more outspoken in the past,

‘I… do not know.’ Fen admits with a bit of frustration, colouring his voice.

I raise my eyebrows in amazement; my stay in Skyhold proves to be more interesting by the day. For Fen to lack certainty as to the nature of a spiritual being is… unexpected. And curious.

What are you, little spirit?

Unconsciously, driven by curiosity, I make a step in his direction, and away from Fen’s aura.

‘I am Cole. Just Cole.’ Answers the boy-like manifestation before me, and I realize that I have made a mistake, allowing him to feel my thoughts. An uneasy shudder runs through me.

‘You do not have to fear me, Pride. I would never hurt you; I just want to help.’ He reaches out to me, surprising me with his motion, and I fail to react in time. His presence washes over me, numbing my senses with serenity and peace, and I forget, for a moment, about why this is a bad idea.

And then he doubles over, with a quiet, painful moan, and I snatch my hand away, internally cursing my temporary weakness. Look what I’ve done to the poor child.

‘Kid? You alright there?’ Varric Tethras comes closer, clearly worried.

‘So much dark…’ Compassion moans in response. ‘and pain…’ His body shakes uncontrollably. I glance at Fen in a silent cry for help, and he nods, sharply, stepping forward, and casting a quick spell, after which the spirit calms.

‘I am sorry, child. But I do not think you should look at my past, ever again.’ I say firmly, this time keeping myself in the perimeter of Fen’s aura. Compassion lifts his head up, still on the ground.

‘The others say so as well. They dislike me seeing it, even when their thoughts scream so loud.’ He shakes his head. ‘I just want to help! And I was happy, you did not fear me.’ Cole’s head slumps. ‘I am sorry, Pride. I do not think I can take your pain.’

‘I did not ask you to.’ I avoid looking at Fen, even though I can feel his gaze on me, afraid of what I’ll see in his eyes. I would hate him pitying me. It would break me, us, if he did, because I would not be able to tolerate it.

‘I **could** make you forget!’ Compassion perks up, hopefully.

‘No.’ I reject his offer, without a sliver of a doubt. I can feel the others - Varric, and the Inquisitor - judging, evaluating me, anew. But I am indifferent to their reactions, and I straighten myself, proudly. My pain, is my own. Not to be shared - but neither to be forgotten. I am, who I am, because of how my experiences shaped me to be. The fact that large part of it involved pain, well, that’s my own cross to bear.

‘I did not think you would want it.’ Admits Cole dejectedly, finally standing up. ‘You are the Pride, after all.’ He pauses, before adding, softly. ‘I am glad you did not fall.’

This is getting both unsettling, and way too private, for my tastes. Especially in front of all these people - even if most do not seem to notice the spirit on the ground. But Varric, Inquisitor, and Fen, do; and that’s three too many for me. I might have told some of it, to Fen - at a later date, perhaps. But the other two, I wouldn’t share my past with, given choice.

When backed in the corner, retreat to another position, and evaluate situation, anew. One of the first lessons my life has taught me, never stay in the damn corner; that’s just asking for a blow to come. It is important I regain a semblence of coherence, before I deal with the damn situation, and its consequences. Without second thought, I turn around to leave, to rearrange myself, find my balance. 

Only to be stopped by Fen, grabbing the sleeve of my jacket, brought to a halt mid-motion.

‘ _Forgive me._ ’ He repeats, and I hate seeing the guilt in his eyes. He has, in this regard, nothing to feel guilty of.

‘ _Not everything in this world gone wrong is your responsibility, Wolf. I, or my experiences, most certainly are not.’_ I say, this time, facing him, head on, and he flinches, ever so slightly, at the definiteness of my words. But I do not want to leave on that, too harsh, of a note, drawing an impenetrable line between us, so I briefly squeeze his hand on my sleeve, before pushing it off. _‘We are fine. That’s all that matters._ ’

 _‘Could we…_ **_talk_ ** _, perhaps?’_ By the emphasis placed on the word, I know Fen means visiting me in the Fade. I hesitate, for a second - we haven’t done that, for the longest of times. I have disliked the dream visits, because everything is so much harder there, disentangled from the reality; much harder to hide and pretend. Without things to ground me, I am much more transparent, easily seen through.

Obviously, for Fen, it was never the case. That was where he was originally from, after all, so he always held the advantage, there. Dreamborn, I called him, laughing, once.

Which is why he had never pushed it, upon me. He knew of my preference, to stick to the physical reality, and always, always, asked. Tactfully, and never, ever, pressuring me.

With a sigh, I realize that I will have to, most likely, get used to us talking in our dreams. It is already quite apparent to me, that in Skyhold, any privacy is an illusion. Even if we chose to disappear, and make time for ourselves, our disappearance in itself would have been noted, and interpreted.

So I nod my wordless agreement, and his eyes brighten up, just a tiny bit lessening the burden on his shoulders.

I glance, indifferently, at the curious onlookers, before finally, finally, departing. Behind my back, I hear a curious dwarf, assaulting Fen with his questions.

‘What was that? How do you know Fea of the Wings? And what was that **language**?’

I allow myself a hidden smile, satisfied that I could extricate myself from it, while Fen answers, with this nonchalantly collected, typical for him, attitude.

The stay in Skyhold becomes easier to bear, afterwards, and I finally admit to myself how much this undefined, uneasy situation between us bothered me. I could care less about the disapproval of others, even if, suddenly, I find myself under close scrutiny.

They’re curious of me. I can feel the eyes, watching me, more or less covertly, and internally, bristle, on edge. I had gotten comfortable with the feeling of anonymity my disguise usually grants me, and this change is unnerving. Even if the Seeker had warned me, she hasn’t been really all that annoying. Before.

Have I slipped up? Has the my strange, surprising encounter with the spirit betrayed me, too much?

I breathe a sigh of relief once I realize it’s not really about me, it’s about Fen… Solas. Apparently, the fact that he has got something disturbingly like a **friend** is so mind boggling for everyone, I am treated as a freak of nature. His carefully cultivated persona of people-disliking recluse suffers now, by my mere existence.

I wonder if he regrets asking for me to join up, and it sends unpleasant jolts of pain through my body. I do not like considering it.

I am not very surprised by their desire to know more of him. His influence over the Inquisitor is very significant, to the bitter frustration of the official advisors. She makes literally no decisions without consulting them with him, and obviously, that makes him an object of their interest, as well as controlled uneasiness.

But it goes further than just that, although I doubt they are aware of it.

I see the signs of his influence in the Inquisition… everywhere. The small message boys, the cooks, the scouts and the soldiers, and the servants, many of the elves serving the organization are his, affiliated with the clans who had sworn their loyalty to Fen’Harel. Had it been anyone else, I would have claimed the all-encompassing threads a demonic influence, or a sign of blood magic usage. But it’s Fen, and so, I’m merely amazed.

He is as capable as ever.

Before the Hunter’s Moon, they were willing to overlook our acquaintance, because there were no visible signs of it. Even Leliana hasn’t really been bothering me about it, and the tasks I’ve been given were all perfectly neutral, courier-like jobs. Deliver this to that and that person. No trust, but also, not too much of scorn.

Now, they are fishing for information at every step, and being none too covert about it. Really, what kind of an idiot do they take me for?

Looking for solace, I find my way to the Undercroft. The place is very rarely visited, and it was high time I saw Dagna, who spends most of her time here. She has been, apparently, following Bianca’s advice a little too closely, and avoiding Varric Tethras turned into avoiding contact with almost anyone, whatsoever.

Dagna bristles at the sight of me in her safe sanctuary.

‘Fea? What are you doing here? Is Quicksilver angry with me? She must be, I haven’t really had anything important to report…’ She speaks so quickly, on the edge of panic, I am, at first, a bit overwhelmed it.

‘Dagna, calm down.’ I try to stop her monologue of self-depreciation, but she doesn’t hear me speak, so focused on her internal hysteria.

‘Are you here to replace me? I am so sorry, I’ll…’

‘DAGNA!’ I raise my voice, cutting into her sentence, and finally, she shuts up, and looks at me sheepishly. ‘As far as I know, Quicksilver isn’t, in any way, angry, or disappointed, by you.’

Of course I’m not. She has been here only for a moment, after all, it’s not like she could have found out anything of note. As I repeatedly told my people, I do not expect miracles, from them.

It really is a wonder, however, how a talented and intelligent person like Dagna, can lack confidence to such degree. It might be her parents fault - not only they’ve never accepted her interests and achievements as anything of note, but also, they literally threw her out, the moment she had stumbled. Really, talk about being open-minded.

Then again, from Bianca’s words, that is a rather common feature, among the dwarves underground. Unhealthy attachment to obsolete traditions, stubbornness, and unwillingness to change. Kind of ironic, when one realizes they are the best innovators on Thedas, at the same time. Only their inventions are limited to the things they consider acceptable, worthy endeavours.

At least they do not push it as far as the Qun does. Yet.

‘I am here on private business, not related to the issues of Wings, at all.’ I smile encouragingly at the dwarf, who returns it, shyly. ‘But, now that I am here, you can give your reports to me, directly. Who knows, I might have something to add, before delivering them to Quicksilver.’

Or it just won’t make any sense for them to travel to Minrathous, only for me to pick them up in Orlais, from Bethany, when I wind up there.

‘Of course, I…’ both of us turn around at the sound of the door opening, and the Inquisitor walks in. She stops in her tracks, surprised at the sight of the two of us.

‘What are you doing here?’ Dalish girl blurts out, before grimacing, clearly regretting her lack of restraint.

Really, I am being asked this question way too many damn times, recently.

I raise my eyebrow, ironically.

‘I was under the impression that the Undercroft was not, in fact, off limits.’

‘It’s not, but why would you **want** to come here?’ She reiterates her question, and I want to roll my eyes. She is so full of openings… Fen, you really went easy on the girl, when you were mentoring her, didn’t you?

I decide to take pity on her, and answer the original question, the one she really would like me to answer. It is laughable, how easily the people are thrown off track, how easily the flow of conversation can be turned to your advantage.

Then again, I doubt any of them could match Fen in discussion. It was always a challenge, keeping up with him, in the rare times when we disagreed on some issue. I had the best of trainings on how to manage the said flow to my advantage.

‘I’ve heard of the Inquisition’s arcanist, and wanted to see her work with my own eyes. Wings could use a talented person like her in our employ.’

On the side, Dagna’s eyes shine with mirth at my words; but she keeps a commendably straight face. Of course, the Inquisitor remains out of our inside joke, and tells me, firmly.

‘Dagna is a part of Inquisition, and will remain with us, as long as she wishes to.’

I am pretty sure Leliana would do her best to prevent Dagna’s leaving, disregarding dwarven female’s desires. Which is why all of our spies have backup plans in existence, in case their positions are endangered. I am not leaving my Wings without escape routes, ever.

‘I certainly hope to change her mind.’ And, turning to the smaller female, I say firmly, underlining my words, so that she remembers them, for the future instances. I would hate to keep her stressed, without reason. ‘Because she does a marvelous job, at whatever she touches. Both me, and my organization, are honoured to have people like her… under our Wings.’

Dagna laughs, finally relaxing the tense line on her face, and the Inquisitor smiles politely. I wonder if I might have pushed it a bit too far in my joke, but I do not regret it. It is important that Dagna feels both confident, and appreciated, for her to succeed.

And even though I am here, my access to the information will be severely limited by the suspicion I face as an official member of the organization. Which means I still need these reports, both from her, and from other spies we have here.

‘I was actually hoping to speak with you.’ Inquisitor Ellana says formally, and my curiosity rises. I was pretty certain she was very much appalled, disapproving of my actions at the Venatori fortress, and wanted nothing to do with me. This is certainly a change.

‘Very well.’ I nod to Dagna amicably, and then allow the Inquisitor to lead me to the battlements.

She remains quiet on the way, as well as when we reach our destination, clearly gathering her thoughts and deciding what to say. I am in no rush, and jump up on the wall, balancing on the edge of the chasm, enjoying the view and this little bit of adrenaline being this close to danger brings. I am pretty sure I wouldn’t die, even if I had managed to fall, but the thrill is still there.

She observes my meaningless antics for a while, before finally speaking up.

‘I’ve been raised by my clan, Lavellan, to respect the life of all living beings. Life is the greatest miracle of Thedas, and I do not agree with senseless waste of it.’

I hum thoughtfully, internally swearing at my inattention.

Of course, clan Lavellan. I should have connected the facts of her heritage with her upbringing, but somehow, I was so focused on the mark she has been bearing, I haven’t realized.

They are Thedasian pacifists, in as much as Thedas allows one of an Elvhen roots to be pacifist. Following, or so they claim, Sylaise’s teaching, preserving the life of others. The problem is, as with most of things, Sylaise’s teachings have gotten misinterpreted, partially forgotten, and misconstrued. She has valued life, and health, and healing, but the Lavellan had pushed it to the point where they do not even accept killing in self-defence.

Which might be the reason why their clan has been chased from one place to another, by the humans. I’ve heard that the other clans didn’t have to continue with the nomadic lifestyle - as long as they were willing to defend their grounds, often, humans decided it not worth the effort to fight them. Not so much with the Lavellan, who left, at the smallest sign of trouble.

A wonder the girl knew any offensive spells at all, before this whole mess happened.

Certainly, Sylaise wasn’t particularly peaceful at the end days of her reign. I remember asking her to be the one to lay down the weapon, for the sake of the Elvhen. She has rejected me. I remember it well.

‘You are, of course, allowed to have your own opinions in this regard. It is none of my business if one day, you get killed, because you will try to be gentle with someone who will not have the same inhibitions.’ I shrug, doing a flip off the wall, and she shudders, nervously glancing down.

Ah, not very comfortable with heights, are we.

‘My problem with you begins when you risk the life of my friends, and your **possible allies** , while pushing your beliefs on others.’ My voice grows cold, and the Dalish girl flinches at the naked threat in it. ‘In the situation we are considering, you were putting the well-being of an enemy, over the well-being of someone close to me.’

I pause, and look at her meaningfully.

‘That is unacceptable.’

She mulls over my words, and I sigh, feeling forced to add.

‘You should really revise your attitude. In the future, you will be forced to make a choice many, many times. Being too benevolent can be more of a curse, than a blessing, when you do it at the cost of your own people. What will happen when the costs of keeping a large amount of prisoners start cutting into your treasury? Will you begin scrimping on the quality of the supplies, endangering the soldiers, or will you let some of the prisoners go, at the risk of them using the information they have gained against the Inquisition?’

I do not think there’s anything more left to say, and I have clearly given her a lot to consider. I nod, before departing, and with another sigh, return to my quarters in the barracks.

Fen has been courteous enough to wait, before the meeting in the Fade, to let me regain my bearing, these past few days. At a guess, there was a lot for him to think through, as well. We had just begun anew, after all.

But this evening, the familiar tug in my mind, is all the warning I need, before I am pulled deeper into the Fade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me, this week had been a bit hard on me, and I was unable to focus properly on the story. In a way, it was very lucky I finished the last hapter on Monday, or I wouldn't have posted it until Friday, at the very least. And I would rather put off the chapter, than write and post something I am not comfortable with. So, the update is a bit late, this time.  
> I hope you like it. Dedicated to WolfenWings: guess what, we will have a Fade talk, in the end.


	37. Hidden Pride

**Hidden Pride**

A familiar scene spreads before me, the secluded alcove in Mythal’s palace. Scent of flowers in full bloom tingling my nostrils, blindingly white walls, and Fade magic colouring the air with shade of green. I take a deep breath, feeling the tension leaving me, and strain on my shoulders lessening, before my eyes rest on a giant wolf. He is sprawled on the grass, shielded from the sun by shadows cast by plants; resting, with his eyes closed.

The atmosphere is as tranquil and unhurried as it was back then, and I smile widely, not very surprised that Fen chose this setting, and this **form** , for our dream. It seems, I am not the only one wishing to use past to reconnect us with our present selves.

There’s a disadvantage to it, however. Have I mentioned that Fade makes me lose my self-restraint? Well, it does. Before I truly realize what I am doing, I am already dropping on the ground, happily curling myself next to the wolf, and cuddling his silky fur.

And then, awareness of reality comes back, and my fingers still, with a sense of dread running through me. Am I even allowed to do that? We are no longer as close as we used to, and my innocent in the past behaviour, now can have many other connotations.

Oh, who am I trying to delude? Not **can,** but **does.** It does have all the connotations, because even though I made a mess of us, we still had all this unresolved tension hanging in the air. And although he had apparently gotten over it, I can’t honestly say I did. I’ll never be completely indifferent to him, no matter the circumstances.

So I await his move, my nerves singing, breath baited. And the moment passes, and Fen makes no attempt to push me away. Carefully, deliberately, I snuggle closer, trying to gauge his reactions.

There are none, aside from a slight flick of his ear, and finally, I sigh contentedly, relaxing, pressed against him. If he is willing to behave as if there’s nothing unusual about me seeking his closeness, then far it be for me to be the one raising the issue. I’ll take whatever I can get.

Had he been in his Elvhen form, I wouldn’t have dared - but wolf was always the neutral territory, and I have always allowed myself much more leeway with him. Most likely, because I acted this way long before unnecessary feelings came and upset the balance between us. Back then, it didn’t mean anything other than me enjoying his presence, and now, I can pretend it’s just the same.

I have always been very skillful at lying to myself.

It is hard to judge how much time passes, in the dream-created reality, with him resting, and me basking in his presence. His aura is much less restrained here, more similar to my memories; even though it still has this sickly taste to it - coming from the amulet he wears, I would guess. Why does he wear it?

Finally, his eyes open, and when he looks at me, I ask the very question, which has been bothering me ever since I saw him, for the first time.

_‘Ah. It must have felt strange for you.’_

_‘That’s an understatement.’_ I murmur, mindlessly playing with the long, black strands of his fur in the meantime. _‘Unnatural, more like.’_

 _‘Much like yourself, I found my magic to be an inconvenience, at times, during my travels.’_ Fen says, tilting his head in contemplation.

 _‘I was unable to hide away my magical strength completely, and whenever situation required magical intervention, I tended to use much more power than I should have been capable of.’_ He admits, with a scrunch of his nose.

It must be a bit grating on him, conceding to inability of any sort. I nod thoughtfully, having inclination where his explanation is leading.

_‘It drew unwanted attention to me. With Templars on the rise, I created the amulet, restricting my powers to a… mortal level. About… five centuries ago.’_

_‘So it works as a limiter.’_ I shake my head in amazement. No wonder he felt like mortal to me - he had made sure to appear like that.

 _‘I am, however, also considerably weakened; in comparison with my past strength.’_ He says a moment later, and I hum my understanding. The manipulations with the very fabric of world must have been very taxing; I’ve never doubted that. Regardless, it is a relief, that nothing serious had changed, and the sickening feel in his aura is a deliberate manipulation on his part.

We fall silent, again, and I do not realize when I fall asleep, entangled in his soft figure, for a while. Dreaming within a dream, the largest irony of all. But my mind needs to rest as well, and as of recent, it has been a very rare occurrence, for me to feel safe enough to let go.

When I wake, again - or retain my consciousness within our dream, to be accurate - he is the one to speak up first.

_‘I appreciate your talk with Ellana. She is not a bad person, nor does she lack intelligence. Merely… misguided and naive.’_

I stifle a dejected sigh. I really, really do not want to speak of her right now, I do not want her presence invading my time with Fen in our sanctuary.

Unfortunately, the reality is that she plays a major role in Fen’s life, right now. Lying to myself about it would be making myself a disservice.  

 _‘I have suspected you might have had something to do with her coming to me.’_  I admit, resigning myself to the unwelcome topic.

He whips his tail in silent agreement, and I shift my weight slightly, adjusting myself better to his figure, and breathing in the smell of wildness from his fur. I can’t honestly berate myself for indulging in this weakness. Even by Mythal’s side, he was untamed, unrestrained in any way - might be why I have found it so comfortable to be around him. I’ve always adored the wolf.

 _‘Still, I would have expected you to teach her better.’_ I murmur, sighing contentedly, feeling safe and protected in his aura of strength and reliability.

 _‘She is still young.’_ replies the wolf blithely, curling his huge body around me. I force my wildly beating heart to slow down, not wanting to blemish our reprieve. We are, again, Wolf and his Pride. No need to complicate things.

Instead, I focus on the matter at hand, and snort, a bit snidely.

_‘From your perspective, everyone is young.’_

I am surprised how laidback Fen is about the issue. After all, it puts her in a very real danger, and my wolf obviously cares for her - shouldn’t he care about this, too?

 _‘You weren’t particularly fond of bloodshed, yourself, at her age.’_ He reminds me, and I roll my eyes in exasperation.  

 _‘True. But I have never rejected the_ **_necessity_ ** _of violence. I was merely unused to it.’_ I counter evenly, growing a bit irritated with the topic. Could he stop defending the girl?

Deciding that my ire is becoming too apparent, I change the topic, before he can call me on that.

 _‘There’s one more thing I am curious about.’_ A fucking lie, there are tons of them. But I can leave them for later. _‘Considering your stance on the Templars, I am surprised you did not influence the Inquisitor in regards to them.’_

 _‘Who says I did not?’_ Amusement rings in wolf’s voice, and I lift my head, casting a searching glance at him in confusion. He made Lavellan… choose to support Templars? Why?

 _‘There were… tensions, growing, regarding my significant sway over the child.’_ He explains, after a moment. I am a bit disgruntled that he refers to her so, all the while remaining in something akin to relationship with her. Why the pretension, the distance? He needs not protect my feelings, I am already very much resigned to the fact he cares for her. I would be a hypocrite, denying him that... especially considering Valotaar. _‘By doing so, and professing my disapproval, I alleviated most of the concerns regarding her… lack of independence.’_

 _‘Ingenious.’_ I whisper involuntarily, and even though his ears flick dismissively, I see a glint of satisfaction in his eyes at my words.

And it really is. Especially since it was not much of a sacrifice, on his part, as from the few other remarks thrown to the wind, I know Fen believes both factions deserve a sorry end - a stance we agree on. The Templars, while included within the ranks of Inquisition, were stripped of their order, and very much humiliated; in fact, Inquisition’s support of their cause is questionable.

 _‘But, Fen, you aren’t being very subtle about it right now.’_ I point out, and he laughs it off, the low  rumble from the wolf’s throat, sending shivers down my spine. Gods, I missed him so much.

_‘They’ve already bestowed Ellana with leadership; they cannot revoke it. The official announcement has been made.’_

So like Fen; and truthfully, she couldn't be any more involved in anything than she already is. Her so-called advisors hid things from her, before; and certainly, they will continue doing so. I can see why he would perceive it a wasted effort, to continue with the deception. Maybe there was a point where it he was forced to act, revealing the whole scheme, or risk suffering significant loss?

That does seem likely.

Our conversation stunts, afterwards, having circled back to the very topic I wished to abandon. Thrice-be-damned Inquisitor.

Fen is clearly struggling, trying to come up with way to say something - his muscles under my hands feel strained, and I knead them lightly, trying to lessen his unease. It is mindboggling, how much freer I am with him when he is a wolf, than when he is a male, but I do not question my instincts. He is the one to set the pace, and boundaries.

_‘Pride.’_

My hand freezes, and I look into wolf’s eyes, and the turmoil in them.

 _‘I_ **_was_ ** _looking for you.’_

Not very well, apparently. And what does he mean by that, exactly? I remember telling the Disciples where I could be found, in case he woke up.

My face must be expressing my confusion, because he clarifies, a moment later, guessing at my thoughts.

_‘For Elvhen, uthenera is not a matter of convenience, but necessity. It has become apparent as of recent - the Disciples are not fully tied to this existence. They require rest; they’ve barely remembered you visiting the Sanctuary.’_

I saw that they looked more tired than before, but I hadn’t expected it to be this serious. Maybe I should have stuck to writing letters, instead - but then, I wasn’t aware of this.

When I think about it, it does seem fairly logical. Centuries upon centuries of existence must be wearing down on mortals; but if so, what of the Evanuris? How do they tie into this puzzle? Fen has been around for thousands of years, far beyond my comprehension.

But he continues the previous thought, so I put off the question for later, focusing on his words.

 _‘I was in Ferelden, first. You’ve expressed your desire to study the Blight, previously; I thought you might have gone there. And…’_ Fen pauses, before admitting hesitantly, _‘I also had something to investigate there, myself.’_

He is being purposefully vague, which I dislike, very much. But this isn’t the right moment to push for answers, not when we’ve barely begun speaking with each other. So I bite on my lip, firmly stifling my curiosity.

_‘Then, when it became apparent you weren’t to be found in the Blighted lands, I travelled to the lands of former Dales, thinking that perhaps you might have decided to try helping the remnants of the kingdom.’_

In fact, I’ve done the exact opposite. My fingers curl, tightening the hold on his fur, when I think about my cowardice. I’ve purposely avoided the lands of Shartan’s broken dream during my travels; guilt welling up within me whenever I thought of the costs of it. Maybe it would have been better for the elves to never leave Tevinter, in the first place, considering what’s become of them.

 _‘I was near the border with Tevinter, when my search was interrupted. A certain… opportunity presented itself._ ’

I keep my face impassive, not to show how much his words hurt. Opportunity. After ages, when we are finally awake at the same time, able to meet, he had chosen not to, because an **opportunity** appeared. What if we had missed each other, again?

I think it almost hurts worse than if he hadn't looked at all. It's a close thing.

But then, we’ve already established that I was the only one who still valued our past friendship.

It’s my pride speaking the words, when I reply, struggling to appear unconcerned,

_‘It’s all right. It’s only to be expected that there are things, for both of us, of greater importance than the long-unseen acquaintances.’_

He looks at me impassively, while I curse myself for drawing this line. Me and my damned pride. I must have become masochistic, enjoying twisting knife into bleeding wound; my own words hurt me far more than him.

I bless the fact that I feel the tug of power, whisking me away from the dream, immediately afterwards. Things would certainly become awkward, with me unable to keep my bitterness at bay. It is unfair of me to blame him for anything, especially halfway through his explanation.

But I do not feel like being particularly fair, confronted on a daily basis with Inquisitor Ellana, and her eyes, shining with affection and adoration for Fen. It’s like she is everywhere, dragging him along, trying to get him involved in various tasks and duties; and it is so unlike Fen to be self-sacrificing, I want to scream. Did he change specifically for her sake?

The report I get from Dagna does nothing to soothe my wounds; if anything, it pours salt on them.

From her words, Inquisitor Ellana is a truly gentle, kind soul, universally adored by the members of the Inquisition. Patient, quick to forgive, and slow to anger. Eager to learn, and embracing her duties with her whole soul. Her atypical quirks and benevolence are easily forgiven on the merit of her being the Chosen of Andraste; and whenever she does something questionable, in the eyes of others, it is all attributed to Solas’ influence. Her one and only flaw, it seems.

The funny thing is they are often right - mostly because the girl seems incapable of making any significant decision of her own. I saw it with my own eyes.

It makes me think less of myself, when I realize I cannot bring myself to like her. Even though, I can see it, she is trying to look past our differences, and befriend me. My own flaw, jealousy, is rearing its ugly head; and thus far I’ve been unable to keep it at bay. I attempt civility, but mostly, keep my distance, aware that my patience is very short, when it comes to her.

Whether she is genuine, or she simply wants to lessen the pressure on Fen is irrelevant; the important fact is that she is trying. And if I am being perfectly honest, I am not.

Dagna’s report touches on the inner circle; the most important people in the Inquisition. I skim over the part regarding the leaders - I know far more than she does about Sister Nightingale, Josephine Montilyet, or Cassandra Pentaghast. Cullen Rutherford is the largest unknown among them, Templar records one of the few things Wings have little to do with; but his story has been long reported by my other spies in the Inquisition - former Templar with a troubled past, recruited by the Right Hand to the Divine right after her investigations of the Kirkwall disaster. The fact that he was a Templar is a bit troubling; on the other hand, the man had willingly left the order, seeing its faults. Because of Ryanth, I cannot judge him too harshly; I know there are good people in the order, as well.

Just… misguided.

And yes, I am aware of my own hypocrisy, when I am more forgiving towards Templars for their lack of wisdom, than towards the Inquisitor. It doesn’t make me feel any better about myself, but at least, I am aware my outlook on her is somewhat… fine, very much… biased.

I’ve already met Blackwall, and Dagna doesn’t have much to more report on the man. He is very closed-lipped about his past, and there are suspicions regarding his less than stellar conduct before his induction to the Wardens. Not particularly unusual - the organisation was known to recruit among convicts, many times in the past. It is only people with little to lose who sign up for the death sentence of a ritual.

My dwarven spy knows nothing of the Tevinter mage who joined the Inquisition on the eve of the disaster, because the man was already gone, along with the Bull’s Chargers, before she had arrived. Considering my own suspicions regarding his identity, I do not mind waiting, before confirming that Dorian Pavus, my little lost lamb, has indeed come to serve the Inquisition’s cause. I can easily afford putting off this particular headache, for later.

Dagna has kept away from Varric Tethras, but I already know a lot of him from the year I spent in Kirkwall. It was a surprise to see him here, since I’ve believed him to be disengaged, and downright deriding, towards organisations like this one.

From last two remaining members of the inner circle, very little is known of the elven female, Sera, aside from her boisterous and audacious, bordering and often crossing into simply rude, behaviour. On the other hand, Madame de Fer is famous, or rather, infamous, among the Wings. The First Enchanter of the Montsimmard circle, although she didn’t have the chance to assume the position before the war had started, and the circle split into those who supported the war, and those who did not.

Because I always disengaged myself from Orlais affairs, believing them to be a puffed up buffoons, I knew little to nothing of the happenings within their borders before the war; aside from the major shifts in the dynasty. And the Chantry. Aaand politics in general.

So maybe I knew quite a lot, but not in regards to their mage-related problems. But then, we had this literal flood of refugees, and after Kirkwall, some from Orlesian circles as well. Madame de Fer was often a topic of their conversations, and none too favourably.

I understand their position quite well, and personally, do not feel all that warmly about the woman myself. Maybe once I meet her, I’ll change my mind, but I doubt it. Sacrificing one’s dignity, and pride, for the sake of climbing the social ladder, is a thing I’ve always considered distasteful. And the woman dares to claim that hasn't been the case, when clearly, she had used the connections offered to her by sleeping with a much older, well-positioned man, to insert herself into the court intrigues. And rip benefits.

They’ve all been sent away on numerous errands, during the repairs of the fortress. Wise, if I say so myself. Forcing such a colourful group of individuals to share close quarters would have resulted in… accidents and arguments. They would have been at each other’s throats by the end of the week.

Unfortunately, I can see that the time of their return is looming on the horizon, because Skyhold looks very much refurbished, and liveable, again. I sigh heavily, not at all enthusiastic about another bunch of inquisitive people, most of whom will be interested in me - either by the merit of me belonging to the Wings, or by the fact I am acquainted with Fen.

I shudder at the commotion if my true position within the Wings ever comes to light. Creators, preserve me.

After years of leadership, it is not so easy to fall back into a mere scout role, even though I’ve played it these past years. Still, it was merely pretending, and I was a law unto myself, coming and going as I pleased, officially reporting and working under Valeria, which naturally included me into high leadership, without being too conspicuous. Now, that I’m actually relegated to this role, it is very trying. Since, additionally, I have to keep my magic in check, with all these Templars around, I am beginning to feel very stifled. On Par Vollen, it was easier, with the clear mission and target in front. Here, I have a perspective of years, years, of pretending, ahead of me, and I must say, it’s not very motivating.

Not to mention, I know I am used below my abilities. That I could do more, than I am doing; and I am doing a poor job of hiding it.

Scout Harding is aware my dissatisfaction, and responds with irritation. We simply rub each other the wrong way; and I am nearly certain she feels the need to prove herself before her superiors, having someone dubbed as one of Wings’ best under her command. And Wings are known for having the cream of the crop, among their elites.

Some, I’ve even trained personally.

Now, I wouldn’t fault her for being a bit competitive with me; I can understand that she feels threatened in her position. Not that I would want it, mind, but she doesn’t know that. The problem begins when she lets it affect the way she treats me. With my already short temper, it doesn’t help matters at all.

The first to return are Bull’s Chargers, accompanied by, paint me not surprised, Dorian Pavus. What blows my fuse, so much that I begin swearing internally, however, is the closeness and familiarity with which the Pavus boy behaves towards the Ben’Hassrath. I would wager my soul, the two are lovers; and there is a fucking thousand of reasons why it shouldn’t be happening, I couldn’t even begin to list them all.

Fate likes to laugh in my face.

‘You are angry, Pride.’ Notes the spirit behind me.

I’ve nearly gotten used to him sneaking up on me, as well as swallowed the bitter pill of the fact that no matter how hard I try, I can’t feel him approaching. Cole has been following me around like a puppy, not at all discouraged by our disastrous, first meeting; raising quite a few eyebrows. I know for one Leliana waits impatiently for the opening to question me about him; I am unsure how I’ll respond.

I’ve yet to ask him what he meant by his words ‘I know you’; but I made him swear that he will leave my past alone.

So, instead of jumping awkwardly, I turn around calmly, looking at the spirit in boy’s body.

‘Yes, I am.’ I admit. Not that I could deny, with him keenly aware of my emotions.

‘Why? Did Dorian make you angry?’ And without allowing me to respond, he adds. ‘I like Dorian. He is kind, even though he thinks I should be bound.’

‘I do not know Dorian.’ I reply with forced neutrality, glancing down, and swallowing another wave of fury, when Iron Bull fondles the young Altus in the middle of damn courtyard. Talk about public relations disaster, if it ever comes out that Tessarian’s intended political heir slept around with enemy. I’ll have to write Nervlis about preparing some cover story for this; gods, what a mess.

‘Then why are you angry with him?’ Confusion rings in Cole’s voice, and I sigh heavily.

‘It’s complicated.’ Before he asks me to elaborate, I shift the topic. ‘Cole, why do you keep calling me Pride?’

‘Because that’s who you are.’ If possible, he is even more bewildered than before.

Talking with spirits. Exercise in patience, clarity of expression, and insanity.

‘I have a name, you know.’ I remind him gently. ‘Just like you are Compassion, but are named Cole.’

‘I am both Cole, and Compassion. But you are more Pride than Fean’Na.’ I turn around distressed, checking if there's anyone around us; fortunately, there’s no one who could possibly hear. Note to self - no talks with Cole in open spaces or my nerves won’t last for long.

Undeterred, Cole continues on, unaware of the near stroke he had given me.

‘Those who know you, also know that.’ Meaning Fen, because he is the only one to know this part of my story. ‘While you like being Fean’Na, you had discarded that, her, in darkness.’

Mindful of the rare moment of peace we have, I tilt my head, and reply honestly.

‘You are wrong, little Compassion. I had also lost my pride, at the time. I was too weak.’

He shakes his head in denial.

‘You believed so, but it wasn’t true. It was a bad, wrong way to express it, but by choosing to fall, you were also being proud. Pride was more important for you than being, you never gave up on it.’

I look at him amazed.

That’s… a new way to look at this.

It requires further consideration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little plot, lotsa fluff chapter.  
> Sorry that this chapter is a bit shorter, but I wanted to end it at this note. I doubt I'll manage a second one this weekend, but I'll try my best to have next one ready soon.
> 
> Warning: Bioware rant ahead.  
> Here’s the real reason why the Templars were chosen: aside from my very first playthrough, I always sided with them, regardless my personal, opposite, feelings on the issue. Why?  
> Time travel fucks up the Universe way too hard. And I’m saying that, aware that my Fean’Na travels in time – but she does so only in one direction, so it’s all right, not to mention, technically, I wouldn’t call it time travel per se.  
> If there was a time travel involved, I see no fucking reason why the Inquisition wouldn’t have tried their very best to get a hold on these spells, and try to predict the future, in more instances, going back and forward. It would be a perfect solution, saving them an unbelievable amount of trouble. Even with the disclaimer it being possible only because of the Breach, they had captured Alexius before it was closed. WTF?  
> Same with Corypheus. If he knew of these possibilities, he would have never allowed them to fall into the hands of enemies, and used them to crush his opposition without any possibility of resistance.  
> So. Going Templar route allows me to pretend time travel does not exist, at all. Which is why I’m doing it. However, luckily, I managed to think up a quite realistic reason why a completely manipulated by Solas Inquisitor would have made this choice, so overall, I’m not too unhappy.  
> End of my annoyed at Bioware rambling.  
> But really? Time travel? It always fucks everything up. I never saw it done right, on the part of game developers / authors / film makers. Unless it’s one way, and to the future, or to such distant past it makes no difference on current events. a  
> BTW Here is where I admit my absolutely favourite HP fanfictions are almost always with Harry going to the past (incidentally, most of them are HP/TMR slashes. Call me crazy). Somehow, I’m more forgiving when it does not make complete sense when it comes to ff, than when constructing a world/important plot point.


	38. Jealous Pride

**Jealous Pride**

Cole had managed to get me distracted, so that without me fully realizing it, my irritation, no, fury, with Dorian, was temporarily alleviated. It will return, I am sure, once I am faced with another display of the kind I’ve just seen. But for now, my mood is much improved.

There’s no outward reaction from Iron Bull at my presence, even though I am aware that Leliana had specifically informed him of it. It is always calm before a storm; and I can feel he is watching me, biding his time and analyzing his course of action.

Being forced to remain on guard at all times is very exhausting. I am sure Fen is unaware what precisely he was asking of me. It is starting to take a large toll on me, when the already stressful environment suddenly turned into deadly-dangerous.

I welcome the deployment orders with relief; especially since the Chargers are to remain in Skyhold. It can’t be a coincidence, Leliana is definitely intending on keeping us purposefully away from each other, as much as possible. Very wise, on her part. I am grateful for her farsightedness.

We are directed towards Wounded Coast, in Ferelden. It has already been a site to Inquisition’s operations, but apparently, Venatori movements have been sighted in the area, as well as some bandits taking refuge on the cliffs. The situation needs to be reevaluated, anew, and the main force will follow in the scouts wake, with a week of delay.

In practice, it means barely two days of difference, because soldiers on foot are much slower than mounted scouts, and even with the necessity of surmising terrain, it gives us a lot of time to get the job done.

During this, first in my Inquisition career real assignment, the differences between me and scout Harding become more apparent than ever. What before had me merely gritting my teeth in annoyance, now becomes blatant disregard of her orders. She simply doesn’t know how to use me properly, and by not asking about it, is wasting a damn good resource.

I’m finished with localizing the bandits in mere hours after our arrival, and with no more tasks ahead of me, aside from observing their activity - which there’s little to none to speak of - I am bored out of my mind. Without remorse, I leave my partner - overly excited youngster barely out of childhood - with a firm instruction to stick to the hideout I’ve prepared, no matter what happens. And I go do some scouting of my own.

The winds on the Wounded Coast are harsh and unpleasant, tasting of salt and always wet. I find myself dearly missing my wonderful, double-lined coat from Antiva. Unfortunately, it is also one of the signature parts of Quicksilver’s outfit, a very characteristic design; and I curse my own lack of foresight, to have a similar one prepared for Fea’s needs. Less flashy, and more practical, of identical general properties.

The forest here is thin and providing little to no cover, so most of the spying on the Venatori camp has to be done under the cover of night. The last hours of daytime I spend on acquainting myself with the camp’s surroundings, encountering an old Elvhen ruin within the crooks of the mountain. To my utter distaste, it seems to be a shrine in Andruil’s favour. The area and conditions certainly fit her preferred, harsh hunting grounds, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise, but I would have expected it to have fallen into disarray, a long time ago.

Not only it is mostly intact, but also, the briefest brush of my aura has me momentarily flipping backwards, defensively dodging energy discharge. The damn wards are still active.

On the positive side, Fen will be overjoyed. There must be something pretty powerful stuck there, if it has kept them up for this long. I know he has been looking for such little gems, leftovers of Arlathan’s power, in the spare time he had from his regular duties.

Sneaking into the Venatori camp under the cover of night is a kid’s play. For once, the wind is in my favour, instead of being a blasted inconvenience, because I do not have to further dampen my naturally quiet steps with magic. It is more than loud enough to cover for me.

There’s nothing too unusual about this outpost, aside from the fact they seem to be guarding, badly, an entrance to the Deep Roads. I would have told them it was a sure way to attract attention, and they’d better simply disguise it with a natural landfall instead. Well, their loss is Inquisition’s gain, because now, they will be aware of the danger this way brings - it being a possible enemy attack route.

In the time remaining for the Inquisition’s arrival, I do some more sneaking around, while analysing my findings. At a guess, the only way for a large army to move undetected, and appear right under Inquisition’s noses, ready to strike, must have been the Deep Roads. The mages and the Venatori must have been preparing for a while already; I am surprised Leliana hasn’t made any preventive moves; nor realized something was amiss before the attack. Even if they were unaware of Corypheus’ existence back then, it was only expected that the mages would reach to the Inquisition’s opposition.  

I am pretty sure scout Harding is very disapproving towards my blatant disregard of her orders. Yet, because of my undefined standing within the organisation, she merely purses her lips on my return, before dismissing me.

I am sure it would have ended up being merely that, but then comes Fen, and upsets the uneasy peace we had between us.

It starts off innocuously enough, with Ellana Lavellan asking about the report regarding the Wounded Coast state of affairs. The answer scout Harding gives is concise, and pretty accurate - only they have missed a few things; for starters, the other scouts did not bother infiltrating the Venatori camp. I begin wondering whether I should take her to the side and inform of my own findings, when Dalish girl thanks Lace Harding for her work. But the opportunity is denied from me, when Fen inserts himself in the affair.

‘A moment, if you will, Inquisitor.’ All eyes turn to look at him, while he casts a speculative glance in my direction. ‘Fea?’

‘Yeees?’ Don’t do this, Fen, just don’t. I do not want relationship with my superior any more screwed than it already is.

‘Any additional insight?’

Damn.

I glare at him irritably, but Fen remains unabashed, raising his eyebrow to urge me on. With a defeated sigh, I come to the center of the clearing, taking a bite of the apple in my hand on the way; pretending I do not see the weighty gaze of Harding upon me.

‘Firstly, the bandits are just a bunch or refugees, former farmers, driven out of their homes by the mage-templar war. So far, they haven’t even attacked anyone; the weapons and armour they’ve got is from looting the corpses on their way. Scavengers, rather than predators; and I would bet they could be easily reasoned with.’ I pause, taking another bite of the apple. Scout Leader behind my back lets out an angry hiss, but I’m done caring. The milk has already been spilled; and more, had she actually asked me about anything, I would have told her that, without her being humiliated in front of the leadership. Her loss.

‘There are signs of giants, having a lair up in the mountains, so I would advise caution, and avoiding the northern part of the region, if possible. Once angered, they are, as you surely know, a pain to deal with.’

Agreeable nods surround me, even Seeker suddenly appreciative of my presence. I finish up the apple, and throw away the core, wiping my hands on the handkerchief.

‘The Venatori are only patrolling the closest surroundings, sticking to their camp like a terrified rats. If you so desired, I could take out the sentries under the cover of night without anyone realizing it for a while.’ I roll my eyes at the blatant disregard of security on the part of my enemies. Really, these people had something - a lot - to do with mages, coming from Tevinter. Did they expect there to be none among the Inquisition ranks, solely because the organization supported Templars? I would have loved to understand what do their leaders think; if they think anything at all.

‘They are guarding entrance to the Deep Roads, and, at a guess, one of the Red Lyrium distribution routes. I was unable to take a look inside the caves, to see for myself whether there’s a mine there, or whether it is merely a way they use to transport it.’

‘And, lastly, but I doubt it would interest anyone but Solas… Catch.’ I throw to Fen one of the stones I picked up on the steps near the Shrine, with intricate rune-work on it. ‘A ruin, to the east. Careful, wards are still active, and I couldn’t check it out.’

He nods, curiously examining  the piece in his hands.

‘We appreciate your hard work, Fea of the Wings.’ Speaks up, unexpectedly, Cassandra Pentaghast, and I glance at her, surprised. Her hostility towards me has lessened significantly, faced with this proof of my competence - she clearly values able people. I feel a surge of gratitude towards Fen, and realize that once again - as always? - he was a better judge of the situation than myself, looked at deeper implications; understanding people around him more. Regardless how it puts me on the spot with Scout Lace Harding, Seeker’s approval means much more than this minor inconvenience.

I really should get used to the fact that he is, and most likely always will be, wiser, of the two of us.

The look in Scout Harding’s eyes promises me a painful retribution, later, but she smiles, thinly, and nods.

‘Serah Fea is a talented addition to the unit.’ A miracle she did not choke on the words, they sound so forced and unnatural.

I shrug neutrally, indifferent to their approval. I do not need them to tell me I am good at what I am doing; I know it.

Varric Tethras and the Inquisitor are sent to talk with the farmers-turned-almost-bandits. They look the least threatening, and the dwarf is a master at speechcraft. Of course, we lie in wait as a backup, in case the negotiations fall through; but soon, our precautions turn out to be unnecessary.

I am unaware, and uncaring, of the details behind the proposal offered to the farmers. When darkness falls, I retrace my steps back to the Venatori camp; and at the opportune moment, slit the throats of sentries with practiced certainty. When blood from their veins colours my fingers, I look at it dispassionately, and marvel at how used I’ve become to this. This… coldness and detachment, the more years pass for me on Thedas.

I clench my fingers into fist, decisively casting off the unnecessary thoughts. Time to get moving.

The following carnage is quick and definite; people inside caught off-guard in their sleep. I observe from the sidelines as Venatori forces are efficiently wiped out. It’s not like I couldn’t join in; but ever since the memorable assault on their fortress, I was reminded of my limits. Without my magic, my mangled up leg is too much of a hindrance to allow for an even fight with armored opponents. I would only get in the way; and I would absolutely hate relying on Fen to cover for my openings, again.

We  spend a few more days on the Coast, keeping away from the dragon’s nest and giants’ lair, but otherwise, investigating every crook and stone for suspicious activity. By the end of the week, area is nearly wholly subjugated, aside from parts of it inhabited by deadly creatures.

The evening before our departure back to Skyhold, Fen and Inquisitor spend on analysing the artifact found in the ruin.

I cast a speculative glance at the young child who is supposed to lead the Inquisition. The look she sends to Fen is unmistakably loving, devoted. And while he seems wholly engrossed in the crescent-shaped object filled with magic I can feel even from the distance, my heart wrenches at the sight.

Suddenly, my disability, my blindness to magic, is harder to bear than ever. Even though I know I have no one to blame but myself. I have done it to myself. Yet, the fact that I will be never fully able to share his passion with him hurts. No matter how far in magical theory I progress, I’ll never see things the way they do it. Not grasping the intricacies of shapes and colours, following only touch and feel; my superior aura manipulation will always hit the wall. Limit.

Had it been only about that, I would merely grit my teeth, and persevere. I have learned to take some pride in the way I’ve dealt  with this; and no matter how much their vivid discussion leaves me feeling excluded, I have accepted my flawed self.

But there’s more to it.

It hurts, being replaced. I can easily see what could have attracted him to her. That must be the reason why I can barely stand her - because when I look at her, I see a mirror of myself. And I am the broken surface of glass, not her; Ellana is the perfect, unblemished one. There’s a certain light in her, a brightness, yet unshaded, even after what befell her – she’s different, somehow. Maybe she can remain pure, vivid, no matter the circumstances. An unquenchable flame in the darkness.

I certainly couldn’t.

A murderer with more innocent lives on my hands than I can count. Many of them died meaninglessly, simply because I saw no other way. Because quick death was the only mercy within my strength, my reach, to give them.

She would have done differently, I am certain. They are world shapers, Ellana, and Fen, it connects them.

Me?

I am only a traveller, lost on the wrong side of a fairy tale.

I walk away from the campsite, swallowing my pain, and the moment sentries are out of sight, pick up the pace, until I run, heedless of the burn in my lungs. When I put a significant distance between me and the camp, I let my magic lose, uncaring of the danger. I need to run myself down, to let out this pain, screaming inside of me, or I’ll go crazy.

Stupid, stupid Fean’Na. You knew what you were signing up for, right from the start.

Finally, my knees feel weak, my legs are shaking, and my mana is dry. Doing the last fade step, I am literally scraping the bottom of my reserves, and it wakes me up from my emotional breakdown. My disfigured leg is burning from the overuse and strain, reminding me that I am damaged goods, and behaving like an emotional teenager certainly won’t improve my situation.

Careless of me. I left myself literally defenceless, away from the camp, at mercy of the local fauna.

Never again, I swear to myself, limping back to the camp - and not only I’ve made a considerable distance, but my pace is snail-slow. Never I’ll allow myself this much indulgence, ever again.

I return just before the sunrise, disregarding the strange looks given to me by the guards. Carefully, soundlessly, grimacing a bit at the pain it causes, I dress my wound away from the prying eyes. Changing from my soaked outfit, both from my sweat, and from the wind, I wash away the grime, before swiftly jumping into fresh clothes. When the morning comes, there’s nothing to tell the story of my sleepless night, aside from the paleness of my skin.

And the constant tingle in my leg, but I take care not to show any signs of it outwardly. The least I could do is not make a spectacle out of myself.

The Inquisitor and her companions are returning witj the scout unit back to Skyhold, the soldiers remaining behind. Considering my inner turmoil, I would have preferred they stayed as well. Alas, life has rarely ever gone along with my wishes.

To make matters more uncomfortable, Varric Tethras begins interrogating me - because calling it merely a questioning would have been taking it lightly - about Wings. And I can see the others are listening in with interest. The only one not too apparent about it is Fen, but I am nearly certain he does as well. Nearly.

I am still not all that proficient at reading him. But I am getting there.

‘So you are saying that people join because they want to?’ The note of scepticism in dwarf’s voice makes me visibly bristle.

‘We free a lot of slaves.’ I reply coldly, unable to keep my indignation at bay.

‘So it’s a mutually beneficial deal.’ Varric prods me further, and my nerves snap nearly audibly, as my fingers dig into the skin of my palm when I clench my hands into fists. How dare he suggests we are forcing anyone to do anything?!

‘No. There’s no deal.’ My voice could freeze the atmosphere around us, and Varris realizes he might have crossed some invisible line, because he backs away from me. Good instinct in him, I’ve got to admit, because I am nearly ready to throttle him. ‘It’s called gratitude, master Tethras. I know the concept might be foreign to a **businessman** ’ I spit the word, to ensure he knows I do not mean it favourably, ‘like yourself; but among people whom we’ve returned their lives back, it is actually a pretty common thing.’

I scowl, before adding.

‘We’ve never had to ask; nor have we ever lacked manpower.’ Having said this, I prick the horse, hastening its stride and letting it be known I treat the conversation as finished. It would be better for them all if they followed my suggestion, or I won’t be responsible for my actions.

Sensing my rattled mood, I am left blissfully alone until our return back to Skyhold, where fortunately, other things occupy their attention. Sera and Madame de Fer had returned from Val Royeaux in our absence, bearing news from Orlais.

I strain my own ears, fishing for information myself. I begin feeling somewhat isolated, uncomfortable, as if walking blind, restricted from the access to my usual sources. Bianca would laugh, if she knew just how right she was, when she described me as obsessive. But damn it all, knowledge is power; and I am losing my hold on it.

What reaches my ears, however, is that the Inquisition has figured out the next move Corypheus is likely to make. The documents and reports found in Templar Fortress, Therinfal Redoubt, suggested he intends on creating turmoil within Orlais, perceived by him as the only nation capable of negatively impacting his plans for Thedas.

More turmoil, to be accurate. Though I have my own, private suspicion there might be more to the scheme than just that.

Personally, I think he is severely underestimating Tevinter, and Ferelden. Magisters have large reserves of power. While part of them is involved in the constant war with Qunari, if the Archon ever decided to deal with the Venatori, he certainly would have the means to do it. It is unbelieveable how much potential the only nation openly supporting its mages holds. If they weren’t so focused on internal squabbling and weakening themselves with Blood Magic…

Andraste really broke their faith in their own power; no matter how they pose otherwise. It is a bitter truth, because I have preferred Thedas under Tevinter rule, to what it is now. Alas.

And Ferelden has this crazy mobilisation thing going, which was shown during the Blight, and before that, when they were fighting for their independence of the Orlesian rule. They are so damn proud, I would have easily found common language with them - only their treatment of my kind leaves a lot to be desired. Well, there are no perfect people, and no perfect nations.

The sad thing is, ‘Vints are the ones treating Elvhen, once they are free, best - for all that they were the ones to enslave us, originally. Creators must love the irony; Thedas is literally overflowing with it.

The days pass, and again, I play messenger, while the Inquisition’s leadership is up to their necks in plans and nearly panicking, because they are unable to make any progress.

It has been determined that whatever’s going to happen, will likely take place during the peace talks, which are going to be held during Grand Masquerade, held in Winter Palace. It is only a few months away, and the preparations need to be laid down much earlier. The Inquisition agents are at their wits end trying to get an ‘in’, lacking a formal invitation. Without it, they would be merely intruders, and chased out.

Only not a one person who could extend such invite has any desire of doing so.

Celene stands by the Chantry, and their official stance on the Inquisition’s heresy remains as unyielding as ever. A weak Empress like her wouldn’t risk enraging her benefactors by going directly against their directives, not to mention, I can tell, she sees no advantage in that. I wouldn’t too, in her position.

Duke Gaspard, on the other hand, while not bound in any way by Chantry’s directives, as he had  disengaged himself from them the moment they threw themselves behind Celene, has no interest in the Inquisition. From his perspective, we haven’t done anything noteworthy, as the Inquisition’s activities were mostly in Hinterlands, and Storm Coast, both of which are Ferelden; their short stunt in the mostly uninhabited Hissing Wastes has passed without much notice. And, as an Orlesian noble, Gaspard looks down on the dog lords, and nothing the Inquisition had achieved there holds any meaning in his eyes.

While it would, at first glance, appear beneficial for the Inquisition to try and earn his favour by expediting more effort in Orlais, time is slipping, and the likelihood of changing his opinion in time for the event is slim.

The third person, who could possibly be approached, duchess Florianne, is both mysterious, and elusive. Her organization of the Ball comes as a surprise, as thus far, she had held herself on the sidelines of the battle. However, the fact that she values her apparent neutrality in the matters regarding her brother and cousin, allowing her such thing in a first place, is a valid reason why she would strive to avoid doing anything that could endanger that perception of her. Inviting a private army to the peace talks is sure to rise a few eyebrows… and much more.

I reach these conclusions relatively quickly, but remain undecided on how to proceed with all these knowledge. My influence could tip things in Inquisition’s favour, but… The question is, whether I want to use it.

Finally, bitterly, I realize there’s simply not enough information for me to go by.

Ha. A leader of the best spy network in Thedas, at your service. Fate likes to make a joke of me.

It means I’ve got to reach out to a person who knows more - even though I’ve been avoiding him, a bit, recently. A tip of the hat to my feelings, as well as me deciding to give myself a small break.

I catch him in the gardens, inspecting some of the plants there. He turn to face me the moment I come, and I feel a cautious, inspectional brush of his aura, almost immediately withdrawing.

 _‘Tell me, Fen, is it really essential to involve ourselves in Orlesian disputes?’_ I do not waste time beating around the bush - especially since we are alone.

I could care less for Orlais, more, I would gladly let them fester in their own problems, let them destroy themselves - or wait for Corypheus to do it. Both Celene, and Gaspard, have a responsibility for the burning of Halamshiral. As does the whole Orlais, really, with their disparaging attitudes and disdain and intolerance. That is a tragedy I am unable to forget quite so easily. And forgiveness is on a whole different spectrum.

Let them all burn, burn down to ashes. The bigoted fanatics.

 _‘I do not think much of them, myself.’_ Fen says with a sigh. So he did hear of Halamshiral. Not surprising - who didn’t? _‘Alas. Inquisition requires more military support.’_

And Orlais is the one place where the Inquisition could get it, needs not be phrased out loud.

There is a point in that, with the ‘Vints both disinterested, and engaged with the Qunari, and Ferelden weakened after Blight, still in recovery. While I consider both of them capable of stopping the Blighted Magister, it would require time. Time during which the Inquisition would become a smoking memory.

The civil war has, at the very least, resulted in the whole Holy Empire being up in arms, people mustered and equipped, waiting for the axe to fall, and the final confrontation between their lieges to begin.

I nod, walking away with a thoughtful frown.

Later, I inform Leliana of my plans, and make my way to Val Royeaux. I have been neglecting my duties - again - and this time, Valeria’s past accusations would hold a ring of truth to them.

The shining jewel of Orlais, Val Royeaux, is one of the places I seriously despise. I have many problems with it, beginning with entirely unreasonable one - it is neither Arlathan, nor is it Minrathous. Goudy, too much gold and the stupid flag-like things flapping in the air above, stretching between the windows. One would think I would welcome them, easing up travelling across the roofs the way they do; but I don’t. I’ve never required such crutches and cheats to help me along, and I see no reasons to use them even when they are provided on the golden plate.

Bethany greets me with enthusiasm, and a whole stack of reports, at which I groan, unhappily. But I sit down, and read through them, dutifully, while confirming my information, as well as thinking on the issues of the recent weeks. Specifically the whole Winter Palace business.

Finally, comfortable with my state of knowledge, I relax. And make a decision.

If Fen says it’s necessary, then most likely, it is. I’ve promised to help him, and so I shall.

I have no way of affecting the two females, but Gaspard is a whole different matter. He has certain ties with Tevinter, in fact, he has been trying to court Archon’s eldest daughter for years, since his wife’s death. Radonis hasn’t replied, as of yet, unwilling to send his daughter to a man who had already lost one battle for the throne, and may very well lose the war. The Archon is far too shrewd for that, and will await the conclusion of the battle in Orlais, before responding to the proposal in a definitive way.

This, however, gives me an angle I can pursue. With a firm instructions to get my letter directly to Tessarian’s hands, I sit down, gazing at the parchment. After careful consideration, I begin writing.

_‘Magister Lucanus,_

_You would have never guessed, but I have managed to find our wayward boy entangled with the Inquisition. For now, he appears unwilling to leave, and forcing him out would be counterproductive, so I am keeping a close watch over him. Hopefully, I will be able to impart some wisdom on him, as well as keep him alive, throughout this mess._

_It would seem it is our best interest for the whole Corypheus business to be done and over with as fast as possible._

_Partially pertaining to that, I do have a personal favour to ask of you. Tessarian, you have met, I believe, duke Gaspard de Chalons, during his visit in the Empire, haven’t you? …’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it turns out that I’ve written parts of this chapter a while back. When I was looking at my so called ‘snippets’ - random notes I made for myself which I knew I wanted to include at some point of this story - and collected them together; it was nearly halfway done. Well, one third of it was done, but it was the most important part.  
> The inspiration for it is twofold. Firstly, I am very thankful for all of you who had found time to leave warm words for me - they are a source of great motivation. I reread them constantly, when I am stuck somewhere in the middle.  
> Secondly, I've always found it unbelieveable that Corypheous left all of his secret plans simply lying about in Therinfal.  
> So, in my story, he did not - just some vague instructions, from which his overall goal could be derived. Because. He is not that stupid, here.  
> Which is why (surprise!) there are two chapters this weekend. Rejoice - I know I did. ^^  
> I suspect next one, however, will be either on Friday, more likely on Saturday. This week will be exhausting and I won’t have much time for writing - nor energy. Keep commenting, it gets me really motivated.  
> Poor Fean’Na. I am kind of remorseful what I am putting her through. Some. A bit. Not at all? But she is awesome, so she will manage. Most likely. ^^


	39. Obstinate Pride

**Obstinate Pride**

I am very reluctant to leave Val Royeaux. In spite of my dislike of the city, being surrounded by Wings gives me  a sense of safety I sorely missed, letting me relax and sleep easily at night. In Skyhold, I can’t drop my guard, lessen my vigilance, even for a moment.

But I owe Fen my allegiance, and my service; my pride demands it of me, my gratitude demands it of me, and… my feelings towards him do. It is certainly not worse than serving in Andrastian army; although being a part of Exalted March was less straining.

That is, disregarding the emotional burden of having to witness, and take part in bloody raids.

And I’ve got to admit, the Inquisition is a bit better in that regard than the previous Holy Army. At the very least, they do not burn the liberated ground down behind them.

However, there’s a darker side to this Holy Organisation; one which, I’m quite certain, is carefully concealed from the naive and pure Ellana. Like the fact that not all of those ‘willingly conscripting’ are quite so… voluntary. Or that once an area has been subjugated, all of the dissidents, who do not want to submit to Inquisition’s protection, are brought to heel. One way, or another - and Leliana’s agents definitely do not shy from violence. I’ve watched it happen, bile rising in my throat at the people publicly whipped and disgraced for speaking up against the so-called Herald and her universally acclaimed holiness. Universally, ha! Laughable, really. Those who do not agree simply keep their words to themselves; they’ve wisened up.

Then there are those professing loyalty to the Chantry and its directives. Sometimes they’ve been stripped of their possessions and run-down. Sometimes the locals lynch them before Inquisition’s intervention even gets there; afraid of the reaction and taking preventive measures.

It is no surprise that King Alistair has been rejecting any offers of negotiations with them. He isn’t happy about such things happening under his rule; and who would be, in his position? Having a large, unaffiliated force interfering on his lands and **protecting** it in his, and his army’s, stead.

His misfortune is that he has no answer to the Rifts, which are wreaking havoc, wherever they appear. So he cannot oppose Inquisition, and risk his populace being left at the mercy of demonic onslaught in retaliation.

Instead, he remains coldly distant, neither outright disapproving, nor assisting. It is wise on the part of Josephine that the Diplomat doesn’t push him any further; clearly, she is well-acquainted with Ferelden pride.

On the whole, the Inquisition’s influence has been... generally positive. A definite improvement over the uncertainty people suffered during the mage-templar conflict. The bandits have been largely disposed of and are kept away from the protected areas. Wildlife, like packs of wolves which grew to large and dangerous numbers, unbothered by hunters during war; have been exterminated. Agents ensure the flow of goods reaches those in need, and often are consenting to a barter system of exchange, with people working off the price of the necessities provided to them.

Maybe I am being too critical of them; comparing them to an impossible ideal. But I’ll be glad to leave Inquisition behind me, the moment Corypheus’ threat is dealt with.

These, and other thoughts accompany me on the way back from Val Royeaux. I am keeping my other worries at bay; focusing on analyzing the Inquisition itself, rather than my own sorry situation in the mess.

Surprisingly, when I  cross the gates, Fen is awaiting me on the courtyard. I know I’ve informed Leliana of the day of my return; but why is he here, especially considering the distance I put between us before my departure?

I dismount next to him, and tilt my head in quiet question.

‘We need to talk.’ Fen says firmly, and whistles softly for his own horse. Wordlessly, I jump back into the saddle, and turn my mount around. I’m pretty sure I should be reporting my return back to my theoretical superiors... but I could care less about the local hierarchy.

He leads us away from the fortress, and down the mountain, until we reach a secluded valley, with scarce bushes and shrubs sprouting from between the stones. I get the distinct feeling he is frustrated, or even irritated, with me, from the heavy silence in the air.

Fen ties his horse to a fallen tree, and I follow his example, still without a word exchanged between us. Taking a few steps away from me, finally, he looks at me with anger flaming in his eyes.

_‘How long were you planning on keeping your injury from me?’_

I let out a soft startled gasp. Certainly, while I had no clear expectations in regards to what this might be about, I hadn’t considered… that.

 _‘I wasn’t hiding it specifically from you. Force of habit.’_ I smile uncertainly, because he doesn’t seem appeased in the least. _‘It’s history, Fen. I’m fine.’_

I might be stretching the truth here, slightly, because I took more care not to slip up around him. However, in general, it was more about my pride, than anything else.

Clearly, I wasn’t watchful enough.

Fen sighs with exasperation.

_‘Have you considered that it is within my power to alleviate the extent of your injury?’_

The offer is not at all surprising, and I kind of knew he had become a very skilled healer - his saving Inquisitor’s life was what brought him into the organisation in the first place. Not on Sylaise’s level of mastery, of course, but close enough. Still, I shake my head, stubbornly.

_‘I’ve learned to cope. I do not require your assistance.’_

Again, I draw a firm line between us. I do not want to feel indebted to him; owe him anymore than I do. Not to mention, I feel that I’ve dealt with the situation well enough. I certainly do not need pity.

For a moment, I believe he will back down, with pursed lips and scowl. To my surprised displeasure, Fen persists.

 _‘Pride. I’ll not think of you any less because of this.’_ His voice remains carefully, pointedly neutral.

Well, you might not, my wolf, but I certainly will. Think less of myself, that is.

This time, I’m the one scowling.

_‘I told you, it does little to impair me!’_

I am not, in any way, weak. I refuse to be, and any implication that I might be makes me angry. My voice raises in response, as does my temper. What’s up with all this? It is unlike him, to push me for answers like that, to push me for **anything,** when he was so summarily rejected.

 _‘Care to validate your claim?’_ Fen crosses his arms, and looks at me with apparent challenge in his eyes.

At first, I am stupefied, looking at him in disbelief. Did this mean what I think it did?

But there’s uncompromising steel in his gaze, and I feel my pride answering to his provocation. Without any more thought, I blur in motion, behind his back and throwing a knife at the opening. It hits a barrier, and the wolf turns around, meeting me head on.

Fen casts off all the pretension, answering with his whole might, putting all of his experience and superior knowledge behind it. This is no tame and purposely sloppy at times apostate front I face. This is the predator who taught me all the basics of what I know; this is one of the most dangerous and powerful beings to ever walk Thedas. And he is not holding back. Somewhere in the midst of our bout, I realize he took off his necklace limiter, clearly in anticipation of precisely this happening - but it is a random, quick thought, gone as fast as it appeared, when I struggle to hold even a centimeter of ground.

I am outmatched. No, more than that - I am thoroughly outclassed. Frustration rises within me, when Fen, disregarding all the fancy moves he puts on for show in front of Shemlen, targets where it hurts. My mana is steadily draining out, when I’m forced to dance out of his reach; always just barely dodging his blows. And he is using hardly any spells; nor is he as fast as I am. He is simply overpoweringly much stronger, predicting my moves, being three steps ahead. But he doesn’t finish the bout, merely pushing me into constant defensive; not exploiting fully the openings I know I am leaving; unable to keep up with his onslaught.

I feel bitterness rising in my throat. What is the point of that?

But soon, I know; when pressure on my leg begins building up. The way Fen has been controlling the fight was to force me to use it more often, as the focal point of my dodges and desperate attacks. He wants to prove the fucking point, which infuriates me. In my anger; I find strength and determination to try and fight back, and for a moment, it is an even combat. I reach to my mana without restraint, and force my body to move one step, one breath faster.

And then happens what both of us knew would happen right from the start, even if I was too stubborn to admit it. My left leg falters under me; pushed beyond its limits. And I lose my balance, mid-spin, and I fall.

Fen catches my arm before I meet the ground, forcefully twisting it behind my back and immobilizing me. Pulling me closer to him, he speaks sternly.

_‘Yield.’_

My heart beats wildly, feeling his breath tingling my ear. Wanting to get out of his proximity, I force my taunt muscles to relax, which Fen knows to take for a submission. He loosens the hold on my arm, and I snatch it back, taking a limping step away to put some distance between us.

A wave of frustration runs through me, when he stands not even a little bit tired, his breath nearly even, while here I am, breathless, panting in an undignified manner.

Fen raises his eyebrow in enquiry, and I snort irritably.

_‘Both of us know; in no circumstances this could have been an even fight.’_

_‘And yet, you were slower, and less flexible, than before.’_ Fen counters evenly, not at all perturbed.

I sigh, defeated, and give him a tight nod. He has managed to force his point on me; I might not like it, but I am not completely unreasonable. Usually.

We return for our mounts, with me pouting a bit, involuntarily.

Gods damn it, I don’t like losing. Much less, losing this badly.

 _‘Your control over Fade has improved, you’ve become much more precise.’_ Fen says on our way back, and I glance at him, to see a playful smirk there. I roll my eyes - well, at the very least, **someone** has enjoyed himself.

 _‘Admit it, you’ve appreciated loosening up a little.’_ I mutter snarkily. He shakes his head with ridicule, but I can see the slight tilt of his lips. Got you there, didn’t I, my wolf?

It brightens my mood considerably, even though I just received another lesson in humility. He is always wound up so tightly, so focused on his role of a humble Apostate, mere advisor, **mortal** , it is painful to watch.

He can play them however he wants, carefully maintaining his mask, and yet, none of them manage to catch onto his contempt, the sarcasm of his words as he compliments them on reaching painfully **obvious** conclusions as if it were any achievement.

There are times when he slips up, patently obvious for me. When he reveals a touch too much knowledge, shows power beyond their comprehension, wisdom above his, presumed, background. But another layer of protection, the Shemlen arrogance, protects him, better than anything.

Yet, when I observe him bowing down his head before them, a wolf in sheep’s clothing, pretending, I’m appalled; even knowing it for a ruse, I hate it. It doesn’t suit him, my proud, proud wolf, so alike with me in that regard.

Some part of me, the egoistic one, is glad for it. They do not deserve, are beyond comprehending, the magnificence of his powers, his full glory, so lost in their own mediocrity. It’s not their fault they’re born this way – but I guard the privilege of knowing the true him, unleashed, jealously. The one and only thing I still hold over the Inquisitor; it seems she has claimed everything else.

There will come a day, I suspect, when he will show her the truth. I hope to be gone, by that time - when they become a true partners, in full meaning of this word.

We go straight to the healer’s tent, where Fen requests for all the necessary medical supplies. I have to hide my mirth at the way people scurry to fulfill his orders - they are positively jittery around him. Without prompting, I slide off my breeches, and begin unravelling the bandages as usual holding my muscles in place. My fingers still, and I lift my head, as the curtain covering the entrance raises, and Varric walks in.

‘Anything happen, Chuckles?’ Voices his concern Varric, his eyes glossing over me uneasily. We haven’t ended our last conversation on the best of notes, and he has been wary in my presence, ever since.

‘Fea has been… mutilated.’ Fen is struggling to keep his voice even, nearly stuttering from fury raging behind his words, as he watches me unwrap layers of white from my leg. Humans take a step away from him, instinctively aware of the presence of angered predator in their midst.

I finish my task, and put my leg on the opposing me chair, allowing Fen easy access to examine it. He delicately runs his fingers over the scars and irregularities of my skin, estimating the extent of the damage.

Varris comes closer, and lets out a soft whistle.

‘I am guessing that this was no simple accident.’ The dwarf addresses me, unable to look away from the disgusting red patches on my leg. I deliberately don’t look down - I wouldn’t be able to keep my expression straight. Even after all this time, it brings a grimace to my face.

‘I’ve been a complete failure as a slave.’ I answer shortly, letting him infer the rest of the story.

The tense anger coming off in waves from Fen intensifies, and I fight off an uneasy shudder, a bit frightened by the deadly intent in his eyes, reminding myself forcefully that this is my wolf; no matter how my fighter’s instincts scream of danger. He would never hurt me; and I’ll be damned if **I** hurt him by shying away from his touch.

So what if he can be, is, violent. Relatively speaking, so am I; even if his rage would have a much more profound consequences than mine.

 _‘Fen, you might take under advisement that those responsible have turned to dust a long time ago.’_ I say calmly, and he relaxes, somewhat. There’s still anger in him, but not so focused, anymore, and with an unexpected layer of sadness, when he averts his gaze away from me, and back to his examination.

Finally, Fen reaches to the sharp scalpel-like knife on the table, and just as he is about to cut through my sin, Varric interjects, with no small incredulity.

‘Wait a moment, you are going to begin, just like that?’

‘I need to remove the excess tissue left over after the bone regrew without being set.’ Fen doesn’t even look up and plunges the knife deep into my skin, while his other hand partially freezes my veins just above the wound, to stop the excessive blood loss.

I let out a low hiss, but otherwise, remain motionless, while Fen begins… doing whatever it is that needs to be done. It is seriously freaky seeing someone manipulate your own flesh, and I have to look away, biting onto my lip to stop the pained moan.

Gods, I have grown soft in the recent years, if this  small amount of pain is getting to me. Maybe I should consider dropping by another Qunari reeducation facility - simply to keep in form.

‘Shouldn’t you, I don’t know, do it while she is unconscious, or something?’ Varric is also deliberately avoiding the sight of my exposed flesh, stealing uneasy glances once in a while, and swallowing nervously.

‘Fea?’ Fen continues with his operation, and I hear a disgusting splat of... something dropping on the ground.

‘Void take you.’ I grunt out through clenched teeth.

‘You heard the lady.’ There’s an unmistakable amusement in Fen’s voice, and I can only shake my head with marvel. Only he could sound collected while remaining so thoroughly focused, his mana steadily pouring out, as he manipulates the energies to keep me from bleeding out and restore my past grace.

Varric snorts.

‘Truthfully, Fea would have regained her senses in reaction to pain, unless I heavily drugged her. And the ingredients of the sleeping potions react poorly with those of restorative, strengthening ones, which she’ll need later.’ Fen explains. ‘Healers are not, in fact, naturally sadistic; there is an actual reason why amputations  happen with people awake and aware what’s happening.’ The ridicule is obvious in his voice at the assumption otherwise, and I sneak a glance at him.

It’s incredible, he is so precise and deliberate with his movement. Beads of sweat formed above his brow, and his intense eyes do not look away from his work even for a second. His aura is so gentle, that my muscles relax under the feel of it, just a little bit in spite of pain, at the soothing familiarity of it. I would have been fascinated, entranced, looking at him work his magic - had it not been my own flesh being affected.

‘Unless, of course, they lose consciousness mid-process.’ Fen adds as an afterthought, and I have to keep down hysterical laugh, bubbling inside of me.

‘Please, can you stop talking of amputation, or any other limb removal, right at this moment?’ I might be too snarky, but really, Fen could consider the circumstances before going down this way with his lecture. It’s deeply unsettling when he has his hands literally inside my leg.

Fen nods his acknowledgement, and the conversation stunts, as he continues with… No, I am not thinking about what exactly is happening down there. It is enough that it hurts. A lot.

And the pain grows exponentially, as his power begins to burn against my skin. My head blanks, and I see a red haze in front of my eyes as I instinctively clutch to the unexpected presence next to me. Forcing myself to keep still, while Fen makes my muscles and torn flesh to mend themselves.

‘I could take your pain away.’ Says Cole, whose hand I’ve been crushing in my grip.

‘No.’ I moan out weakly, incapable of more coherent speech, lost in my suffering. From the corner of my watering eyes, I see Varric jerking, surprised by the new presence.

‘What are you doing here, kid?’

‘Pride was screaming.’ Answers Cole, and hugs me from behind, pressing himself against my back through the chair. My shoulders slump, and I take a ragged breath, pressing my head against the crook of his neck. Not much longer.

Finally, Fen is finished, and my flesh is mostly sealed shut, with only the red line remaining after the ordeal. And some pain, but in comparison to the recent events, it is barely a twinge, not worth mentioning.

‘There’s nothing to be done about the scars. The skin will always feel more vulnerable there, and will ache more easily.’ My wolf says apologetically, brushing over the marred skin softly, with apparent regret.

‘I was never particularly presentable in short skirts.’ I reply with a bit of morbid humour, and Fen shakes his head in disbelief at my dismissal of the issue, before continuing.

‘It will need a while to settle in, but your leg should return nearly completely to its past flexibility.’ Fen attempts to wipe off the sweat, forgetting that his hands are still bloodied, and smearing the red all over his face. It looks so ridiculous, especially once he sighs in exasperation, looking down on his hand with irritation, as if the limb was somehow guilty for his faulty judgement; I burst out laughing. It’s raspy, and still weak, but it energizes me enough to take the sterile cloth from the side, and reach out to clean the grime off Fen’s face.

His eyes meet mine while I delicately wipe him, and I blush slightly, realizing the degree of intimacy my behaviour suggests - presumes. Still, there’s no rejection in his gaze - it is completely inscrutable - that I finish what I was doing, and throw the dirtied material to the bucket.

The dwarf clears his throat, and I nearly jump, realizing that there are, in fact, many spectators around us; we should keep our games to privacy. Cole’s hands keep me from stumbling, as I attempt to stand up, and realize with a grimace I’ll need crutches. For a while.

‘Why didn’t you let the Kid help you?’ The disapproval in Varric’s voice lets me know what he thinks of it - you were just being stubborn, weren’t you?

Sighing with irritation at his inquisitiveness - maybe he should take up the mantle of the leader, it would suit his nature much more accurately than the Dalish child - I answer with a touch of lingering resentment.

‘You people really don’t know anything about spirits, do you... In saying he would take my pain, he meant it literally. Dwarf.’ I scrunch my nose in distaste at the ignorance displayed by everyone. ‘He would be feeling it instead of me. This,’ I point to my leg, ‘was a result of my stupidity and poor planning. I’ll be damned if I’ll let anyone suffer for my own mistakes.’

‘Pride is kind.’ Interjects Cole, and I glance at the spirit-boy at my side with surprise. I wouldn’t phrase it that way - I am pretty sure I am mostly proud - but then, the way he sees world is much simpler.

‘One doesn’t necessarily exclude the other.’ He informs me, with a wisdom beyond his years in his eyes, and I wonder, how old he is, really. It’s impossible to tell, with spirits - especially since their development is so much different to any other living being. For all I know, he could have existed for as long as Fen, merely a whisper of feeling given power hidden in Fade; until some shift made him more.

‘I’ll inform Leliana of your need of recovery.’ Says Fen, glancing between me, and Cole, supporting me by my side, and something like an… irritation, possibly? Flickering in his eyes.

Hesitantly, I reach out, and grasp his sleeve, as he turns around.

‘Thank you.’ I say, and the gravity with which I speak these words, let’s him know I don’t merely mean his interceding on my behalf with the Nightingale.

‘Think nothing of it.’ Fen smiles softly, softly caressing my hand, before nodding to Varric and leaving.

Only he would call restoring my leg, after literally centuries of being a partial cripple; nothing. But then, that’s another of the things I love about him - he was always generous with his gifts.

At least, he was like that towards me. I feel a flicker of hope at that realization, and another blush, threatening to darken my cheeks.

So I take a step in the direction of exit, allowing a wave of pain to chase away my delusions. Better now, than later, when they take root - because I do not think I could survive another disappointment of this kind.

‘You know, there’s a bright side to everything.’ Varric says unexpectedly, walking beside me, as I limp to my quarters, supported by Cole.

I raise my eyebrow in incredulity. There’s something positive in my being chained to bed? Well, aside from the reason behind it - and I still can’t believe I’ll be able to exist without this constant pain, accompanying me.

‘You could use the break to join us, sometime, in Herald’s Rest. Drink some beer, exchange stories…’

‘I’m not much of a beer person.’ I deflect his offer, although it does sound tempting. For altogether different reasons than Varric supposes, of course - taverns are the best place for gossip; and I am information hoarder.

‘You are one of us, now.’ Says Varric, and I am so surprised by this sudden acknowledgement I nearly stumble. Especially since I, for one, do not consider myself one of them. But Cole reacts fast, and supports me, before I fall.

Gods, I don’t remember being this clumsy in the past.

Then again, the day was a bit trying.

‘It wouldn’t kill you to behave less standoffishly, you know, once in a blue moon.’ The dwarf rolls his eyes. ‘I am sure you would have been invited before, if not for the - keep away from me - aura you have going.’

‘If you insist.’ I agree finally, mostly out of curiosity. There must be more behind it - but what, is the question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank’s to your very kind response to the last chapter, I found time to scribble some here and there during the week - in spite of my after-work exhaustion. I would like to especially thank faded for her touching comment, and pepper for, in her own words, rambling. I enjoy reading all of your speculations in regards to the world I’m depicting. It is so much fun to see where my point of view and reader’s agree, and where they diverge.  
> I’ve always imagined Lavellan as this perfect cousin/collegue everyone seems to have. Kinder, prettier, better and gentler than yourself; utterly loveable and sickeningly sweet. One you are always jealous of, and all the while feeling worse with yourself, guilty, for that, because she always tries her best to do well by you, and yet, you can’t bring yourself to reciprocate her warmth and friendliness.  
> In a way, your response, my dear readers, is exactly what I’ve been hoping to achieve. The reluctant - I don’t like you, even though I really should - kind of thing. Like Fean’Na. ^^  
> By the way, much more was supposed to happen in this chapter - and this is me procrastinating about it. And Cole. I love Cole; he has so much potential, as this pure being - and because he can read Fea’s thoughts, so she can’t lie to him the way she does to everyone else. You know, the more this story progresses, the more Cole-related incidents come to my mind. Gods, this story will never end, at this rate… ^^ You know, in my original estimation, Inquisition was supposed to be about 20 chapters long. We are 6 (7?) chapters in, and I haven’t even dealt with single main quest… And there’s so much more to write about. I am getting scared of how long it will turn out being, in the end...


	40. Independent Pride

**Independent Pride**

For the next couple of days I stick to my rooms, keenly feeling the vulnerability of my barely-mended muscles and skin. Fen had cut straight through them - most likely, had **cut out** parts of them, but I am so not thinking about that - and magically hastened healing puts a toll on a body. Also, I want to avoid tearing them prematurely, because they remained weakened, where the magic has done the heaviest work.

I beg out of the tavern visit, too, arguing that the healing potions and alcohol don’t mix. I am not even lying, so Varric actually let’s me do that. For a while.

Cole barely ever leaves my rooms, and I finally admit before myself that I find the little Compassion downright adorable. He is trying very hard to learn how to behave like a proper mortal; but personally, I see nothing wrong with him remaining as he is. So what if others aren’t particularly comfortable in his presence - that’s their problem, not his.

Of course, his very nature demands of him to at least attempt appeasing them. I shake my head, and explain that there’s no fucking way to satisfy everyone - if there’s one thing he’s ought to learn, it’s this one. I do not think he understands what I mean, but he hugs me, and says softly,

‘I care for you too, Pride.’

So I guess it’s fine.

Fen comes by fairly often, bringing me books and talking with me about meaningless trifles which help pass time in the confines of my room. It is strange, how careful he is about not touching any of the debatable subjects between us; but so am I. Following his lead; especially since I was the one to put a strain on our relationship. **Again**.

His care, however, does nothing to lessen my internal turmoil - if anything, I feel like I am sliding deeper and deeper into abyss, no exit in sight.

In a way, I learn to love him anew; again enchanted by his insightful, inquisitive personality and the kindness he shows to me, off-hand, without thought. I had forgotten his greatness. It had blurred in my memories, and even though I cared for him, it was a shadow that I remembered, incomparable with his glorious self. He covers it underneath the not-so-humble demeanour, but his brilliance and nobility shine through.

Fen has changed during the years we’ve been apart; and yet remained very much like before. Chivalrous, and intelligent, and powerful. His sense of humour has sharpened; and there’s a new layer of melancholy which I do not recognize from before. But these changes only make me fall for him even more than before. The wolf is radiant, in my eyes.

I can no longer pretend, at least before myself, that it is otherwise. I love him. Plain and simple. He is the single most important entity in my life - the only one for whom I can put my pride aside.

I know I shouldn’t. Coveting a man who belongs to another woman is just pathetic. Worse, I had already desired him once before, and it didn’t end well, for anyone involved. One would expect more reason of me, after such experiences.

This time I know, turning away, when the time comes, will be even more painful than before.

Soul-shattering.

During a moment of temporary insanity, I consider trying to steal him away from Ellana. I am pretty sure I could; but the truth is, I would never be able to forgive myself for it.

I would grow to hate myself.

I would never know, how much of him accepting me was caused by his guilt towards me. Which is undue; but it doesn’t matter as long as he believes in his responsibility for my tragedies. It is always there, when he looks at me, a shadow in his eyes which makes me cringe inside. I am trying to convince him otherwise - unfortunately, it all falls on deaf ears.

I do not need to add to the sins I’ve done against him - there are plenty. And I shan’t.

The situation becomes my own private nightmare. I can’t allow even a sliver of my true feelings to shine through, for fear of him feeling obliged to respond. Yet at the same time, I seek his presence, and nearness, falling deeper and deeper into those stormy eyes, getting lost in him with each passing day.

Creators, I’m so fucked up.

Cole dislikes me thinking of these depressing things, and chides me delicately, each time I have those moments of introspection. He doesn’t understand my misgivings; for him, things are easy. Onedimentional. I love Solas, and there’s nothing wrong with that. He either does, or doesn’t love me back - Cole says he can’t read him very well. Regardless, I shouldn't torture myself because of it.

I smile sadly, and hug him close, breathing in serenity his presence brings. I wish it was as simple as he makes it sound.

I don’t know whether to feel relieved, or regretful, that Cole doesn’t feel Solas’ - Fen’s - thoughts; although the fact does not surprise me in the least. On one hand, I would prefer knowing, one way or another. On the other, I fear the answer.

Finally comes the day when I am off the potions. Healers say to let my body mend at its own pace - and in any case, taking medications for prolonged periods of time can be addictive. I do not need to add **that** to my already long list of troubles.

They also tell me it’s fine to move around a bit more. I spend whole day in the courtyard, joyfully testing out my new flexibility; already feeling lighter on my feet and swifter in my reactions. I haven’t even realized how much the pain has been affecting; which means that Fen was, of course, right. Which isn’t much of a surprise.

In the evening, I am a bit reluctant to follow through with my outing promise, but I did give my word. So when Varric comes knocking, I do not tarry too long, and allow him to lead me to the tavern.

The crowd inside is not all that different from the other, similar places I’ve been to - rowdy, partially drunk, and loud. People are laughing, drinking alcohol, talking - in general, relieving stress, and being sociable without any pressure behind them.

Varric leads me to the table with two other occupants - the Warden, Blackwall, and Sera, a somewhat mysterious companion of the Inquisitor of whom I know almost nothing about. As I pass by Chargers, my attention is drawn to them, a bit uneasily. They have occupied the right corner of the room, but there’s no reaction, or even recognition, from them, at the sight of me.

For now, I remind myself sternly, immediately deciding to keep my guard up.

‘So. Another Elfy with a stick up her arse in the Inquisition?’ Greets us the blonde female, Sera. ‘Well, you are here. So you can’t be as bad as Solas.

This must be one of the more bizarre - if honest - ways in which I’ve ever been received, by **anyone**. Somewhat confused, I flop down opposite of her, glancing questioningly at Varric.

‘Don’t mind her, my friend. Buttercup is merely venting her spleen; she’s just lost another argument to Chuckles.’ Varric says dismissively, glancing at Sera with clean warning in his eyes.

‘Pfft! Doesn’t make my words any less true; that’s what people’s been sayin.’ The blonde snarks, and takes a gulp from the massive tankard in front of her.

‘Sera. Offending the newcomers doesn’t make them less stiff.’ Blackwall lectures the female with a laughter in his voice, nodding to me good-naturedly. He seems in his element, here, comfortable and relaxed.

‘Oh, don’t mind me. Do carry on.’ I roll my eyes, completely unbothered by Sera’s allegations. I’ve heard much worse, in regards to myself; and if my confidence could be shaken by minor taunts, I would have been able to achieve a third of what I did.

I order some piss-poor wine from the bartender; grimacing at the sourness of it when I take a sip. Sera immediately accuses me of being spoiled, and stiffnecked, which I ignore. To a degree, her complaints have a ring of truth in them. From her perspective, certainly, this description would fit me to a T.

‘How long have you and baldy known each other?’ If there’s one thing one can say about Sera, even after a brief altercation, it’s that she is forthright. As in, having literally no reservations. It can be charming; or a pain. For now, it’s amusing.

‘Some time.’ I reply evasively. ‘If you are really that interested, why don’t you ask Solas?’

‘You two staged it, didn’t you?’ She throws me a disgusted look.

‘Whatever do you mean?’ I tilt my head, curiously.

‘That’s what **he** said.’ Sera snorts with apparent irritation. ‘I already asked. Cause, I thought it strange. Him knowing a fine piece of arse like you.’ She throws me a suggestive look, and I shake my head; partially amused by the blatant, up-in-your face flirtation, and partially disbelieving that she had the audacity to phrase it like that. And so soon after insulting me, too. Her mood swings bear signs of split personality; so quickly she shifts from one to another.

‘I don’t swing that way.’ I cut her hopes short, knowing from my friendship with Isabela that it’s best to set record in such regards straight; as fast as possible.

‘Well, if you ever feel like experimenting. You know where to find me.’ She winks, giving me a blatantly obvious look-over.

The evening goes on, and I find out quite a lot about my drinking companions; all the while saying very little of myself. Sera is an orphan, left on the streets, and then picked up by the Red Jenny, one of the more nonsensical organisations in Thedas. But they saved her life, and I can understand her devotion; even if she tries to cover it with being ridiculous and outrageous. In an way, she reminds me of Shartan; she’s just as starved for affection and attention as he was.

Blackwall gives me a similar to Maferath vibe - which is surprising, because Maferath held much more responsibilities, and faced much tougher choices, on the surface, than him. And yet, the layer of guilt, hidden somewhere within, is very much the same; I remember even know how broken my friend was after Andraste’s death. There’s something broken in Blackwall, too - although he does his best to gloss over it, pretend otherwise.

But the way in which he is, sounds, so damn self-sacrificing, speaks volumes. I know; I’ve been there. It is guilt, pushing us to such things, more often than actual need for heroics. The guilt we would have to face if we remained still; or the guilt because we did. Once.

There are no saints. Just people who feel responsible - for various reasons - for things gone wrong with the world.

I also figure out what’s up with Varric. The man wanted a sort of do-over; after our uncomfortable conversation about Wings, which obviously left me pretty incensed with him. His disbelieving reaction, which I found so very insulting, was merely a result of his curiosity; he hadn’t wanted to offend me. And seeing first hand some of the atrocities done to me by the slavers, made him want to patch up things.

Of course, that’s far from his only motive. I’m pretty sure he is fishing for information, as well, under the guise of informal meeting. But he is being much more tactful about it than anyone else I’ve met in Skyhold, so I bear with it gracefully.

I am being very careful with alcohol, mindful of the hostile presence but a few tables away. Out of my three companions, Sera, having much stronger head than myself, hasn’t been limiting herself. From the way her voice slurs, I can see she is very much drunk. All the while, neither Blackwall, nor Varric seem all that affected.

And then I hear a racket, and a lurching Charger comes to our table, bumping against it heavily. I lift my head, and immediately realize he isn’t nearly as gone as he pretends - his eyes have this alert look to them. Yet, when he speaks, his voice is rugged and sounds properly drunk, so I steel myself for the confrontation.

‘You there. Elf.’ His hand swings in front of my nose, almost toppling over my glass, and leaving me no doubts whom, precisely, he is addressing. Not that there would have been any, in the first place.

‘Let’s go and have a quick tumble in the stables, yes?’ His stinking breath tingles my nostrils when he lowers his head to look me in the eyes. ‘That’s what you people in Wings do, isn’t it? Sleep for information? I’ve got pleeenty to share…’

The soldiers in the table next to ours laugh crudely, observing the situation with curiosity, and a few other disparaging remarks are thrown. I can see on the side Varric paling, and give a quick shake of my head, rising from my seat with completely aloof expression. Iron Bull disappointed me with this scheme - it’s so primitive. Really.

I bear the dark-skinned man placing his hand on my arm, and him pressing to me for whole two steps, until I am farther away from the table. There, I grab the offending limb, and with a deliberate spin of my body, the man loses his balance. I bring my knee between his legs, and then, when he doubles over, without holding back, I make another spin, this time, breaking his nose. He grunts in pain, falling over, and on three, I pin him by the hood of his jacket to the pillar nearby with one of my knives.

The whole thing lasts maybe thirty seconds, and when I’m done, the whole place is deathly silent, people looking at me with widened eyes.

‘Anyone else feel like being a jackass?’ I ask the stunned audience conversationally. They quickly avert their gazes, and slump over their mugs; pretending that they weren’t even watching. I smirk triumphantly, muttering to myself,

‘I thought not.’

I return back to the table, where Sera’s eyes are glittering, suddenly sober again.

‘You are all kinds of awesome, right now.’ She whistles softly in appreciation. ‘Quick work. Clean, too. You sure not interested?’ She looks really dejected when I shake my head decisively; I can’t help laughing. She is impossible.

Blackwall salutes me silently, while Varric tries to find his voice - which is also kind of funny.

I glance at the man whimpering a bit on the ground, still pinned to the pillar, without any remorse. There’s a movement from the right corner, and the large horned man crosses the distance to his injured comrade. He pulls out my knife, and exchanging a few words with the dark-skinned male, pats him on the back, before coming to our table. I observe everything closely, from the corner of my eye, outwardly appearing disinterested.

A moment later, a large muscled hand lays my knife on the table.

‘I don’t think we’ve been introduced. Iron Bull, commander of the Bull’s Chargers.’ He says, with characteristically for the Qunari deep voice.

I raise my eyebrow. Really. He wants to play the courtesy game.

‘Fea of the Wings, at your service.’ I nod politely, and then add, smirking, and destroying the impression. ‘But then, you already knew that.’

This whole situation was your doing, after all.

Varric coughs a bit, choking on the beer he was swallowing, catching onto my suggestion; but the other two show no understanding of the undertone in our conversation. I am pleasantly surprised the dwarf did, actually.

‘I apologize for Stitches. Normally he isn’t so impolite; it appears he’s had too much to drink.’ Iron Bull pretends to not understand my jab, circumventing my words.

So he wanted merely to test me. I could leave it at that; clearly he intends for nothing else tonight. I probably really should. But fuck this, he had, with his fucking scheme, interrupted an evening I was really enjoying.

‘Well. You know what they say. Commander’s leadership abilities are reflected in the discipline of his people.’ I take a sip of the terrible wine in front of me, indifferent to the sudden, oppressive tension from him.

I could take him on - I am fairly confident. He is a decent warrior; all of my reports say that. But not only he wouldn’t know what he was up against, what makes him truly dangerous are his wits, not his fighting prowess. And while all Qunari have this cult of strength thing going for them, he is, by no means, all that impressive. Valotaar was that, in the past. The new Arishok, Sten, is. But Hissrad is a Ben Hassrath also because he wasn’t strong enough to be an Arishok.

So they made him their most able spy. When he returns to Par Vollen, I’m sure one of the leadership positions will be open for him. If he returns.

First, he needs to survive, and with the reckless way in which he has been behaving, his chances are dwindling. Regardless of my wish to fulfill Valotaar’s request.

‘Now now, let’s not get all ruffled, alright?’ Interjects Varric with his best mediator’s voice, soothing and convincing. I smile under my nose, amused. ‘We’re all friends here, aren’t we?’

Me and Iron Bull both glance at each other with incredulity, and I feel a slight tug of my mouth, mirrored on his face. Finally, unable to keep my mirth in, anymore, I burst out laughing, soon followed by the large Qunari.

‘Sure, Varric.’ I manage to say, in between chuckles. ‘We’re all friends here.’

Iron Bull nods to me, and both of us know - this is by no means finished. But he returns to his side of tavern, leaving astounded dwarf in his wake.

‘Sometimes, I just don’t get you… Flash.’ Varric sighs, and my hand stills in the air, as I cast a panicked look in his direction.

‘...Flash?’ I keep my voice carefully even, while my heart threatens to jump out of my chest. Have I slipped up, somehow?

‘You know. You are fast and… well… flashy?’ He smiles, and I breathe more easily, in relief. Damn the overly astute dwarves; they will be the death of me, one day. He really is on point with his nicknames, catching onto the hidden things way too accurately for my comfort.  

Soon afterwards, Blackwall helps Sera back to her quarters, and says his goodbyes, and then only two of us remain. In the midst of the vivid discussion about his experiences with writing, I realize that I have long forgiven him his careless words. Charmer.

‘The good story is all about hurting good characters, and seeing how they react.’ He says stubbornly.

‘Not at all, Varric. There’s nothing that says that the protagonist needs to be good, per se, for the story to be good. That’s just what makes the readers empathize with them - in real stories, written by life, which are the most interesting ones, there’s no absolute good, or absolute bad. It’s just a lot of messed up opportunities, biting us back; and a few people messed up by circumstances.’

‘Nah, that’s way too depressing for me.’ He shakes his head, pouring me more of the wine. I take a look around us, and am surprised to realize the place has emptied; and that first rays of new day dawning can be seen through the dirty windows.

‘All the best stories end up being tragedies, my friend.’ Surprisingly, the word does not feel like a stretch - it’s like I knew him my whole life. But my more reasonable part, suddenly awakened, reminds me that I might be taking the discussion a bit too personally, and being a bit too honest. Hitting it close to home. So I use the moment of silence to announce my own tiredness - and now that I think about it, I am more tired than I initially thought - and Varric chivalrously sends me back to my quarters.

I am not at all surprised when Leliana requests a moment of my time the following morning.

‘I’ve spoken with Iron Bull, at length. Such… incident’ both of us silently acknowledge the word provocation, not spoken out loud but nonetheless heard, ‘will not repeat, you have my word.’ The redhead Spymistress’ eyes flash dangerously, and I nod.

There’s both a positive, and a negative, consequence of her interference. It means that Iron Bull will not try anymore of the petty tricks; that when in company, I’ll remain unbothered. But, the other side of the coin is that he will be plotting something much more complicated, and that when he strikes, he will do it in a fashion which will really hurt.

For the first time since Par Vollen, I feel that my life is endangered. I sigh softly - this will be a trial.

‘Duke Gaspard had finally responded to our plea. Positively.’ She says, suddenly changing the topic.

‘Oh?’ I remain unaffected, feeling quite astounded, internally. Tessarian works fast - what, barely three weeks, and he had already managed what Inquisition’s agents were unable to achieve in two months? I always knew our patron was an efficient individual, but seeing it in practice only reinforces my respect for him.

‘We are grateful for your assistance with the problem.’

She doesn’t even attempt to hide her awareness of who is responsible for the sudden change in attitude of the Lord.

‘I called in a few favours within Wings. I am glad I could be of service.’ I reply, not one for false modesty. They had a problem, and I solved it - gratitude is not unexpected.

‘There are two more things…’ Leliana pauses, and I prompt her on.

‘Yes?’

‘Firstly, scout Harding has been… raising complaints.’ She is carefully neutral, but I barely stifle my snort.

Unbelieveable - the woman was incapable of handling the situation herself, so, like a coward, she had filed a complaint to her superiors? How cowardly of a behaviour is that? Now, I am even more appaled than I was before.

‘Scout Harding has neither interest, nor idea, of my capabilities.’ I reply succinctly. ‘Truth to be told, it is not in my interest to inform you of them. Our temporary partnership will end with Corypheous death; and considering your ties with Ben Hassrath, there’s a decent chance we will end up being enemies. And, as you well know, there’s a large difference between knowing someone is a capable scout, and being accurately aware of person’s strengths and weaknesses.’

Which means - I won’t be telling you much about myself, as long as you have anything to do with Par Vollen.

‘While I do not think us ending on opposing sides is as likely as you make it out to be, I understand where you are coming from.’ Leliana takes it surprisingly calmly. ‘Cassandra has spoken very highly of the accuracy and depth of intelligence you have provided on Storm Coast, so I do not mind you keeping your secrets. I’ll speak with Harding to give you more freedom of action during your assignments.’

I would have done what I wanted in any case; but not having to butt heads with my official supervisor will help, somewhat.

‘Thank you.’ I lower my head a bit, in recognition of her being accommodating.

‘And then, I wanted to speak with you about Cole. He seems very close with you.’ There’s an apparent question in her eyes.

Ah. Of course.

‘There’s not much I can’ or want, but let’s not be discourteous ‘to tell. He is a spirit in the midst of change; in a way which hasn’t happened before; if Solas couldn’t tell you more about that, then neither can I.’ I shrug.

‘Is he dangerous?’ Leliana asks with cold practicality.

‘All of us gathered here are dangerous, sister Nightingale.’ I point out, with a not-so-subtle reminder of her past function by Justinia’s side, at which she smiles, briefly. ‘But if you ask me, I consider Cole the least likely to cause deliberate harm out of anyone in Skyhold.’

‘I see.’ She falls deep in thought, and I consider it my dismissal.

The next weeks are growing more and more tiresome. The preparations to leave for Halamshiral are underway; and Inquisitor is driving everyone crazy with her insistence to include Fen in her entourage. Everyone, one by one, tells her what a terrible idea it is; but of course, she refuses to listen. Fen, himself, remains silent, and I know he could care less, one way or the other. Orlesian business is not something that interests him, we spoke of it, briefly, before.

And I have my own, personal headache, to deal with. If I was watchful before, now, my vigilance has tripled. I haven’t felt this much pressure since the time I was on Valotaar’s ship, with his third out to get me. And just like back then, it begins wearing me down, soon enough, keeping my aura stretched in all directions at all times. In fact, it’s even worse now, when I have to be careful for it to remain unnoticeable under Templar’s noses. One evening, when I am so tired I nearly fall over on the bed, Cole appears next to my bedside, as usual, out of nowhere.

‘Iron Bull is not a bad person.’ The boy says, sitting down next to me. I shift slightly, not even looking up, so very used to his presence I’ve become.

‘I don’t think he is, Cole.’ My voice is muffled by the pillow my head is resting on. ‘He is simply very good, and very dedicated, at what he does. Which makes us enemies.’

‘I don’t understand; how him being competent equals you two being enemies.’ Cole voices his doubts, reaching out and petting my hand.

Sighing, I raise myself to a half-sitting position.

‘That’s what happens between proficient people who strive towards opposing goals.’

He thinks on my words, before pointing out hopefully.

‘They could still be friends.’

I shake my head - Compassion, indeed. Cole really tries to find a solution which would leave everyone happy, in all situations. The problem is that the world doesn’t exactly work this way.

‘They could; but that wouldn’t stop them from putting a knife in each other’s back if the opportunity presented itself. Enough of this; I am exhausted.’

‘You can’t go on like this; you have to sleep properly, Pride.’ He chides me.

‘I am aware of my physical needs, thank you, Compassion.’ I can’t help sarcasm entering my words at this point, but really, what he says is no news to me. He looks at me with a frown, instinctively realizing that he is being mocked, even if he can’t understand exactly what that means; or why.

‘I could guard you during the night, if it made you feel better.’ Cole says after a moment of deliberation. ‘I do not need much sleep; and there’s no one who really wants to hurt me.’

Ah, what a carefree existence. I feel a twinge of jealousy, considering his proposal. It’s true that with his current existence, his necessity for rest is limited; in a way he is resting more often than anyone else, blinking in and out of existence. I would hate to impose on him; but the truth is I really can’t go on like that for much longer, without it impairing my capabilities. And that is something I cannot afford even more.

‘Very well. Thank you.’

His smile brightens up the room.

‘I like being of help to you, Pride. It’s so rare for you to let anyone do that; and yet, you constantly pressure yourself to be of use for others.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of this chapter was inspired by your questions in regards to how Solas’ guilt would impact their relationship; as well as a suggestion that Fean’Na should be more aggresive in her approach to get what she wants. The answer is, as you can see, related.  
> So, I guess, please keep commenting and asking? Who knows, you might touch on an issue I have not thought about including, before.  
> I hope I did Sera justice, this chapter. I must admit, as a player, I was constantly annoyed by her. I’ve always felt she was constantly very angry at the world, and people surrounding her, poorly covering it with vicious jokes. I mean - a bucket falling on someone’s head can be pretty dangerous, you know? And she just laughed it off. She was simply being mean. And to Josie, of all people! I understand that Josie might have annoyed her, but really, she was like the sweetest thing in Skyhold. After Cole.  
> So I do not really know a lot about her; I’ve never done the Inquisitor romance (never been interested) with her; nor have I done many missions for her aside from the initial recruitment.  
> I am going different way with Fean’Na as you can see - she pities her, for being this broken being, rather than dislikes her. But it is somewhat trying, when I’ve got to write her like that, when my own preferences are to just tell her to fuck off. But Fean’Na just… wouldn’t be like that. So I can’t.  
> A word of warning, for Sera fans - there won’t be a lot of Sera-moments in this story. Because of the above, for one. And because I’ve never felt she was a crucial character, in any way whatsoever.  
> I am writing a lot of Cole, though. ^^


	41. Angered Pride

**Angered Pride**

It’s amazing how much of a change being well-rested can bring to the overall mood of a person. Thanks to Cole, I allow myself deeper dreams, going as far as venturing, briefly, into Fade. It is a relief, weeks of disconnection were, unexpectedly, unpleasant. Even though I am not much of a dream Fade dweller - too much there reminds me what’s been lost.

I walk through the mess, and stop in my tracks, seeing Vivienne and Inquisitor deep in discussion in front of me. My first instinct is to turn around, and walk away; I bear little warmth for either of the females.

My initial suspicions that I wouldn’t find a common tongue with the perfumed enchanter were spot on. She had mistaken me for a servant, soon after her return, and begun listing all the things which were done unsatisfactorily, relating to the presentability and luxury of her quarters; as well as ordering me to fix them immediately. I’ve listened to her complaints, and when she finished, I told her to fuck off and return to Val Royeaux, if she was so dissatisfied. We are at war, I pointed out, and this is no playground for spoiled princesses. I left her at a loss of words, spluttering unintelligibly from outrage; feeling a deep satisfaction of a mission accomplished.

I am pretty sure she informed both Josephine and Leliana of my heinous transgression; only to be completely ignored. Or so I presume, because no word, nor reproof, from either of them has reached me.

Ever since, I’ve been pretty much blacklisted by her - remarkably, she has managed to remember both my name and face after this single encounter. The kitchen maid has joyfully informed me that she hasn’t managed to recall a single name of the people assigned to assist with delivery of her meals, or maintaining her clothes. The servants were thoroughly sick of her disagreeable manner, and apparently, me putting Madame de Fer in her place earned me quite a lot of support.

Huh. Who would have thought a moment of honesty can have such unexpectedly useful consequences?

It’s not like I do not understand her actions. In fact, they are both fairly logical, and calculated. First Enchanter of Montsimmard, although still not officially inaugurated, arrived from Val Royeaux expecting to receive a welcome, and position, suitable to her station. And yet, in spite of being a de facto loyalist leader, she has been sidelined, and mostly disregarded.

Leliana has better connections within Orlesian court than Celene’s former advisor, unburdened by the mage stigma, and far better received. She has earned her position over the years; while Vivienne had jumped onto opportunity thanks to her lover’s influence. Sister Nightingale cares little for her helpful advices, the Spymistress needs not be taught her trade.

Josephine has also dismissed Vivienne’s words, her understanding of the Game just as broad, and personal connections running farther and deeper than even Leliana’s. While I think there are certain faults within Lady Ambassador’s network and approach, from observer’s perspective; they are not something Vivienne’s interference would improve on.

They are both aware that Vivienne has built most of her authority on superficial, and fragile, base. Take out Bastien’s existence, and her whole carefully cultivated persona would fall apart, like a house of cards.

Having been met with rebuff from those two, Vivienne has shifted her attention to the Inquisitor. There was definitely a potential there, for her to become a mentor for a lost, young mage from the most oppressed race across Thedas; lost in her duties and in unknown environment. Vivienne had - **benevolently** \- offered her guidance to the Dalish Da’len, expecting gratitude, and acceptance.

But even there, she has been rejected. Ellana had found her teacher in Solas; and she had no need of additional one.

It makes me doubly hated, in fact. Not only had I earned her ire with my lack of acknowledgement of her status; but also, I am here on personal request of her bitter adversary. Or at least, she considers him as such - I know for a fact, Fen cares nothing for her wounded personal pride.

It only adds an injury to the insult, in her eyes, of course. She has attempted to discredit him multiple times, by now; and he had always managed to outwit her. Outthink, outtalk; outclass. She has never been an equal opponent, for him, predictable and narrow-minded. Lesser in all aspects.

Her frustration with the situation - and petty tricks to remind everyone of her presumed importance - are perfectly understandable, in my eyes. A bit irritating, but most of the time, easy to sidestep, or to back out from the situation gracefully.

This time, however, topic of the discussion between Ellana and Vivienne is the one at everyone’s tongues - and possibly, one and only instance where I find myself in agreement with First Enchanter. She’s attempting to discourage Ellana, again, from bringing Fen along to the unofficial court gathering in Winter Palace. Normally, I would have kept myself from interfering - but there’s a real chance Ellana might remain unconvinced. The event is looming closer and closer, and she is as set in her ways as before.

‘Madame de Fer raises an excellent point.’ I interject, after Vivienne’s pointing out of the little standing the elves have in human society - not well received by a Dalish elf, of course.

The girl really should face the reality out there, instead of pretending that just because she doesn’t like it, it does not exist.

‘And honestly, can you imagine Fen… Solas, as anyone’s servant?’ I roll my eyes expressing my incredulity. Ellana’s eyes widen at my use of his nickname, and internally, I curse my carelessness - I’ve attempted avoiding bringing up our familiarity near others; or using up my pet name for him. Well, the milk is spilled. I doubt she’ll make an accurate connection, in any case - Fen’Harel was presumed to be gone, along with other Evanuris. And this guess would be a shot in the dark, in any case - I mean, just because I call someone wolf, it doesn’t immediately bring to mind a powerful, long-gone deity as a first thing.

‘ **I** see him as little else’ says haughtily Vivienne. My patience snaps - what right does she have to judge him?  A puffed up bitch who slept her way to the privilege she now wields?

Fen is a skilled player of the game, who had managed to survive and thrive in the most dangerous of courts – the one of gods of Arlathan. Even as an outsider, he had managed to achieve his aims, and string them along however he wanted – until I appeared, and for some reason, he wished to help me. After he had joined the ranks of the Evanuris officially, he had an even greater success, so really, Vivienne’s derision and disbelief are sorely misplaced.

‘That’s because you are blind.’ I snarl derisively at the mage. She puffs up her cheeks in offence, but I override her before she can even begin her line of arguments, ‘Take First Enchanter, instead - she might be of some use, at last.’

I smirk under my nose at Vivienne’s consternation whether to respond to my insult; or to agree with my suggestion.

‘Solas wouldn’t come as a servant, he is my trusted advisor, and we are going to introduce him as such.’ States Lavellan, and I shake my head in disbelief.

‘Are you for real?’ I mutter to myself, seeing stubborn gleam in her eyes. ‘Look, Da’len…’ I bite my overly honest tongue, and wince slightly at the pain it causes. ‘Excuse me, I misspoke. Inquisitor. You cannot bring him along in that role. If you admitted you value counsel from no name **elvhen apostate** in the Winter Palace, it would shoot down your credibility down to nothing before you had even begun. Remember, he has no divine mantle to protect his station.’

I can see her shaking her head in denial of this truth, and sigh heavily.

‘Ask lady Ambassador if you don’t believe me. Or your spymistress. Or Madame de Fer, if you are really desperate.’ I can’t help the irony seeping into my pronunciation of Vivienne’s title, and the mage’s eyes narrow as she catches onto it, even as she nods along my words. ‘The nobles of Orlais will have a hard time swallowing elf in a position of power in the first place, but they will explain it to themselves as a puppet on human strings, and play along.’ Not that they are far off about you being a puppet, Da’len, but I am not about to enlighten you of this unfortunate reality. ‘You do not want to disabuse them of the notion, believe me.’

I step away from them and leave, unwilling to drag the discussion on. I made my point, and Lavellan can make her own choice now. I am a bit worried I showed a touch too much understanding of the intricacies of human politics than my background would indicate; but the damage is already done, and truth to be told, I do not regret it. I do not want to see Fen lowered any more than he had done himself, it is hard enough watching him as it is.

A few days later I find out, to my shock, I have managed to convince Lavellan with my arguments. Fen comes with the news himself, catching me on the practice field. I’ve been taking time to train my leg, both because of the operation, and because I’ve been enjoying the new freedom lack of pain brings. It is a real joy, the lack of chains, holding me back - and even without the Fade, with my breath partially stunted, I feel like I’m flying.

 _‘I have heard someone is putting my acting skills in question.’_ He smiles slightly on approach, letting me know he is teasing me. _‘I believe I could pose for a servant well enough.’_

I smile, finishing the motion of my strike in a half-crunch, and accepting his hand helping me stand up. I let it go quickly, though, afraid to linger for too long; and even more that my temptation to do so will show.

 _‘I’ve never doubted it. Still, I would spare you from at least_ **_some_ ** _of their ignorance and insolence, Fen.’_

And too harsh a confrontation with how badly did the Elvhen fare after the Evanuris’ disappearance. He saw some of it, already, it’s plain in every bent neck, in every broken voice which used to sing, but it will be all the more prominent in Halamshiral. At least he will not have to experience it on his own skin, this way.

 _‘Their opinions do not make me any less than I am. But thank you for talking some sense in Ellana.’_ He pauses for a moment, while I wash my face in the cold water from the bucket on the side of the field. _‘We had already decided to go over her head, and introduce me as her servant, in the Winter Palace, regardless.’_

I suspected something along the lines must be set up. It shows how little actual power does Lavellan wield; confirming all my suspicions. I feel a temporary wave of pity for her. The poor, little girl stuck in a situation beyond her. She does not even realize that she owes most of her success to careful manipulations of others – particularly, Fen’s.

But then, of course, my jealousy reminds me that he cares for her enough to shield her from unpleasant truths. And I decide that if she is incapable of understanding the game, it’s her own damn fault. She should have folded, right at the start, instead of pretending to be one of the master players.

 _‘Both Josephine and Leliana were relieved that the precaution turned out to be unnecessary. Ellana was very disgruntled, however, at being referred to as a child.’_ Fen’s eyes twinkle with mirth.

I snort.

 _‘Unwelcome truth hurts.’_ Even if I hadn’t meant to reveal it.

 _‘Indeed.’_ And suddenly, the carefree mood is gone, and the air between us cools; and I know, we are not speaking of the child anymore. The question is, what are we speaking of? I shuffle uneasily, escaping with my eyes his burning gaze.

 _‘Pride. I…’_ He begins, and I grow frightened, what is it this time he wants to speak of. So many unresolved issues lay between us; each one more painful than the other.

‘Solas! There’s something…’ Both of us turn around to face the speaker, and Ellana stops in her stride, blushing a bit. ‘Excuse me, was I interrupting anything?’

Fen opens his mouth, but I beat him to it.

‘Not at all. Please, go ahead, I’m just leaving.’ I hide my uncertainty behind a bland, false smile; seeing anger, flashing in Fen’s eyes.

But I do not think I am ready for another painful, revelation. So, like a coward, I escape the situation, with my tail between my legs. Leaving Fen with no choice but remain with Ellana, lacking any plausible explanation to go after me.

At the very least, my retreats are arranged perfectly to not outwardly seem like ones.

The following day, I receive a courier from Nervlis; carefully worded and addressed to Fea. Regardless, I am a bit irritated with him for doing it in the first place, since someone capable of reading between the lines would have easily discerned my leading position. There was a reason why I wanted all of my correspondence to remain in our office in Orlais, damn it!

My mood doesn’t improve after having read why, precisely, he thought it fit to disregard my explicit order. Our Ferelden branch is having troubles, again, and the poor boy I left in charge there had requested support. Nervlis had written that unfortunately, all of our other resources are otherwise occupied, and if it struck my fancy, could I please deal with it?

With slight reluctance, I inform Leliana of my necessity to go to Denerim. That’s where the unrest seems to be coming from. I am a bit afraid she might reject my plea, considering that our journey to Halamshiral is only a month away.

‘Denerim? You’ve been there, before?’ Sister Nightingale unexpectedly perks up, and I feel a bit uneasiness about the sudden interest in her eyes.

‘Twice.’ I reply shortly, wondering uneasily what would she want from me.

‘What a perfect coincidence. We need to send official delegation there, actually; you could serve as a guide.’

I am somewhat disbelieving that there’s no one else better equipped for the task, but, well, she’s letting me leave right before the ball gets rolling, so I can’t really complain.

The said official delegation consists of Cassandra, the official representative, Varric, because he is a smooth-talker, Dorian, to add someone experienced with aristocratic games, and because he is used to representative functions; and Cole, for… no reason, actually. Possibly as a guard? Or maybe Leliana just wants to send him along with me, for someone to keep an eye on him.

I know that Ellana is completely swamped with etiquette lessons; and that secretly, Fen is also giving her advices from Elvhen point of view. The Chargers have been already sent out, to scout and secure Inquisition’s travelling route. Vivienne is, for the first time, being useful, teaching Ellana - and she’s been positively, insufferably, smug about it.

Our journey without trouble, and swift - I force a hard tempo, and even though Varric complains about horses, he manages to keep up just fine.

My impression of Denerim, Ferelden Capital, is rather bland, as it has always been. It’s not the gutter like Kirkwall has been; nor is it glorious like Minrathous; or, comparing it with the magnificent past, Arlathan. It doesn’t have the variety, vividness, of Antiva City; nor the monumental mausoleums, towering and overpowering the impressions of Nevarra. It just… is. A bit unimaginative, a bit random, a bit messy. A bit like all of Ferelden and its natives, I guess.

We go separate ways, once we reach it - I show the diplomatic envoys the way to the palace, while I go, myself into the bowels of the city. Nervlis hasn’t mentioned any specifics as to what precisely the trouble is - and I intend to find out. Laying low is my best bet, especially since my suspicions are rather unpleasant, and involving a highly ranked officer of the previous division leader; the one whom Fenris had slain.

A few days later, I am enraged. The truth is worse than what I had feared - the man had used weakness of new leader to his advantage, and turned our outpost in Denerim into his private bandit den. He deals mostly in minor theft and shakedowns of the local poverty-stricken people. Most of Wings here are thugs; a few that remained from the past have been thoroughly frightened into submission and either turn a blind eye to his actions, or reluctantly assist him in his deplorable deeds.

I understand why young Freese felt himself ill equipped to deal with the issue. Still, I am a bit disappointed it took him this long to find out the truth about Denerim. Even if he resides in Jader; keeping up in touch with our people in Halamshiral, and courting the Orzammar dwarves, he should have known something was amiss before things got that far.

Of course, I’ve got only myself to blame. While we had to remove the previous leader for his entanglement with the Qunari, I have never considered the people stationed in Ferelden, or the situation here, as particularly important. I still don’t. Choosing Freese, I was well aware of his lack of experience; I knew he would be overwhelmed by his duties. I simply didn’t think we could spare anyone else, with our war with Qunari in full swing.

I do not think I made a bad decision. One has to prioritize - and our situation up North consumes the best of my people.

Still, now, I am forced to deal with consequences.

For a few days, I’m hunting down the most dangerous of them; getting them when they are away to do their… jobs, so to speak. Unfortunately, the group isn’t that stupid, and soon, they get a wind of my vigilantism. They fall back to the Wings’ base - as if they needed to do anything more to infuriate me, they now use Wings’ quarters in the city as their fucking hideout to weather the storm.

My mood is not much improved by the Inquisition’s delegation insisting on tagging along. I snap, at first, that they should head to Halamshiral, if their business in the city is done. But then, Cole looks at me with puppy eyes of his, and asks, whether I truly don’t want them with me. Little Compassion is, unwittingly, becoming quite a decent manipulator. Since I haven’t meant him, my guilt forces me into acceptance of their company.

Or at least I hope it wasn’t intentional on Cole’s part. Gods, corrupting a Compassion spirit would have to be like the worst, morally objectionable thing to do. I hope to never lend my hand to such thing.

So. They are there, when I bust into the Wings’ quarters with a righteous fury and badly contained magic, shining in my eyes. They are there, when I cut off a hand of the man responsible for this mess to make him talk where the thugs were hiding their trophies. Dorian pales and looks like he is about to faint. And Cole lectures me about being cruel; I cut his words short driving a knife into the man’s heart, and twisting it to make sure the wound is fatal.

‘That was brutal.’ Varric murmurs, as a deathly silence and bodies on the floor surrounds us. The remainder of the Wings, who weren’t involved, crawl out of the holes they hid themselves in during the short skirmish. I ignore him, and proceed to give out orders to return the stolen stuff back to the owners - and distribute what can’t be identified as fairly as possible among the injured parties.

‘You know, you are taking this awfully personally for a mere scout, Flash.’ Says Varric astutely as we walk back to the Inn where they were staying.

‘Have I ever given off an impression of being merely a scout?’ I raise my eyebrows with ridicule. ‘I am a member of the highest leadership within Wings, Varric. Major fuck-ups like this one are my responsibility.’

‘There are a few bad apples in every organization; it’s impossible to control, to know, everything.’ The dwarf says, and Cassandra nods her agreement from the side.

‘It’s no excuse.’ I purse my lips stubbornly.

It’s no excuse. And this situation has cost us a lot - a loss of reputation within Denerim; I’m pretty sure that some words of this had reached even the King and Queen of Ferelden. That’s a real problem - I’ll have to find a way to repair the lost trust and goodwill of Ferelden’s. Regardless how far away they are from the main theatre of operations, this country provides a safe refuge for a lot of retiring Wings. I would hate for it to change.

‘If you are that high up, I’m surprised they let you go. Someone with your skillset and experience can’t be easy to come by.’ Cassandra says suddenly, after a good moment of silence.

‘I have close relationship with our leader.’ I reply neutrally.

Like being one and the same person with her.

‘Also, this is only a temporary leave - my spot is waiting for me, whenever I feel like returning.’ I add, sticking close to the truth. Although the leave might turn out to be quite prolonged, if the current pace of events is a sign of months to come. So far, after a few months, we haven’t achieved a lot.

We decide to stay one more night in Denerim, before departing to Halamshiral, next morning. We are to head there directly, through the mountain passage next to Jader, rather than travel south-west to Skyhold, and then back up North to the city where the Grand Masquerade will be held.

My feelings are still in turmoil, and Cole, well-aware of this, is sticking close to me, while our food is being delivered. He attempts to calm me down but the outrage is still too fresh and the fury too blazingly hot to simply simmer away. Observing us, Dorian notes with clear wonder,

‘Cole, you like being around Fea very much. I would have expected Solas’ to be your companion of choice; he has a very deep connection with spirits.’

I feel a twinge of uneasiness that Cole might betray my origins; in Thedas, I’ve begun as a spirit, of a fashion, after all. Surprisingly, it turns out he speaks about something else altogether.

‘Solas likes definitions. Defining things.’ He says, sneaking his way to my side, and before I realize it, he is hugging my arm, while speaking. ‘I do not fit any, and that makes him frustrated.’ He lays his head on my arm, snuggling his nose into my neck, like a cat. I smile, and ruffle his extremely soft hair, as he continues.

‘Pride doesn’t do that. She takes and judges things as they are.’

I remain quiet throughout the exchange; once my fears proved unfounded, I care nothing for the opinion of the young ‘Vint. But then, when he addresses me, I can’t ignore him anymore.

‘Pride? Is there any specific reason for… Cole calling you that?’

Of course there’s a reason. He is a goddamn spirit, he sees things as they truly are!

But of course, I am not about to educate my potential enemies of something they could use against me. There’s a chance - however slim it might be - that by the end of our adventure, they won’t have it figured out. So I answer coldly,

‘That is none of you business.’

The Altus glances at me sharply.

‘I detect a note of hostility in your words. Pray tell, have I offended you, somehow?’

‘In a manner of speaking.’ I reply irritably. The boy really has no idea, at all.

‘Whatever do you mean?’ His words only confirm my presumption, and infuriate me further.

‘You have cost Wings a lot of time, and resources, trying to chase you down. And one of my close friends had been caught up in an unpleasant situation which very well could have ended up with him being dead. While here you were, dawdling in the Inquisition, and liaisoning with a completely inappropriate person.’ I take a deep breath as the other three occupants of the table look at me, astounded. ‘To be more accurate, there’s no reason for me to hold any warmer feelings for you, young Pavus.’

‘Wait a second! You were at that fortress… Because of Dorian? Why?’ Cassandra asks, clearly more interested in my answer than offended at my allegation of Dorian wasting his time. Most likely, because that is, in fact, very close to truth. The boy has been mostly playing in the library, and occasionally, doing a few diplomatic stunts. But he isn’t experienced enough to be trusted as more than a temporary companion to Ellana; especially with people around who are much better prepared for this task.

‘I am not at liberty to reveal any details. Sufficient to say, certain parties were concerned about the safety of the run-away youth. House of Pavus doesn’t lack enemies.’ I shake my head in disapproval. ‘Really, young Altus, you could not have chosen a worse path.’

‘I haven’t had any choice! You have no idea…’ Dorian begins defensively, cutting himself off mid-sentence. I know what he means, remembering well my own anger at the information of what was going on within his home.

‘Actually, I do. And there’s always a choice, Dorian - you failing to notice it was your personal shortcoming. So yes, I can, and will, blame you for that.’

You could have gone to Tessarian. You could have spoken to Minerva. Void, you could have, as an Altus, petitioned to the Archon himself with your complaint - and he would have been obliged to receive you. While blood magic is an accepted practice within the empire; using it to alter people - free people, that is - is not; any such allegation is carefully scrutinized and if found true, punished.

He looks in my eyes, and I know, he can guess at least some of my ideas. The young mage blushes at the pointed reproof I am displaying, and shuffling uneasily, falls silent.

It is only on the surface that he differs from Ellana. His experience within the Tevinter society has taught him to look a bit farther than her; yet, still, he is just as much of a lost child as she is. Worse, he now has a Ben Hassrath poisoning him with his careful words and ploys. And I am the only one who can show him the wrong turns; where his thoughts had led him astray.

Creators, I hope at least some of my words had reached him. Tessarian needs, no, we need to get him thinking. Because if he upholds his naive outlook on the world, our political faction within the Senate is doomed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Answering holly+sutterlin question: no, I do not think I’ll ever write anything strictly from Fen’s POV. Maybe a one-shot, at some point, but nothing longer than that - and even this is doubtful. The problem is that I do not think I would be able to do him justice. With Fean’Na, I began by making her circumstances very similar to mine, and tried to follow her steps down to hell - one of the reasons I began as a modern girl-into-Thedas, rather than simply made an ancient elf in the first place. Because I could put myself in her shoes more easily, that way.  
> And also, because if she had been born Elvhen in the first place, I think she would have been much more accepting of Evanuris superiority, and the theoretical privileges they held because of it. A modern girl, born in a civilized country, would never accept that just because someone wielded more authority, it meant he/she was allowed to do anything. And I needed that in her character.  
> To describe males, I often refer to people surrounding me - but I am very aware that they think very differently than girls do. So I can predict (often?), and describe their behaviour, and its consequences, but when it comes to thinking process which led them to it, well, that’s a bit of a mystery to me. Funny thing is, my boyfriend says the same thing about me.  
> And Fen is not even a mortal, which adds a whole new layer of being unable to imagine it properly kind-of thing.  
> So, my sincere apologies, but you will have to be satisfied with what Fean’Na knows, and hears, and thinks, of him; rather than know for certain.  
> Don’t you like this little bit of uncertainty, how this story will end?  
> Also, I think Viv is a bitch. Just sayin’. And this time, Fean’Na’s feelings reflect mine; so I’ll have a field day smashing her to the ground on these few occasions whenever she’ll appear.


	42. Sorrowed Pride

**Sorrowed Pride**

Before us lies Halamshiral.

Halamshiral, the city of sorrow. Suffering of the Elvhen is written into its very walls, razed and rebuilt numerous times. Five times it burned. Five times it was restored. Each time, part of heritage lost, part of Shartan’s dream crumbling into dust.

Now, barely a whisper of it lingers, hidden in the crumbles of the past pride of Dales. Crumbles and scraps are all that remained. Of the statues on the central plaza, not even one had withstood devastation brought by humans. Of the white palaces and residences, carved in white marble, only Winter Palace stands, and even it has been claimed by humans.

Some say it has been built by them - one of the more outrageous lies I’ve heard, and yet, no one dares to deny. They haven’t lived here when it was being built! Sure, they have refurbished and maintained it, but the original outline and architecture are Elvhen.

This is one of the last places in Thedas where the elves are a majority of the citizens - and yet, they are being marginalized, and pushed to the sidelines, even here. In this, originally theirs, place, humans had taken the privileged position, presiding over them. Ruling, judging, using and dismissing.

Cassandra looks at me in askance, wondering why had I stopped riding.

‘Scout Fea?’

‘It’s nothing.’ I murmur in reply, and shaking off my melancholy, finally cross the gates.

Instead, I soon become awash with irritation, seeing the impeccable state of the High Quarter, the one completely human-filled district of the city.

The infamous burning of Halamshiral didn’t involve whole town. Set on fire where only the poor neighborhoods, where the elves had been pushed into by the remaining in power humans. High Quarter, settled by humans, remained untouched - while the People around buried their dead, and cried after their lost homes.

All because Celene had to avenge the slight given to her by Gaspard; because she had to pretend she had a semblance of control, of power, over the happenings in her country. She turned against the least powerful; those she knew would not retaliate in any way that mattered.

One day, I hope that Fate gives me a chance to be the one who makes her pay for all the misfortune and all the pain her actions had caused.

Of course, I highly suspect Briala will be the one to actually deliver this judgement of justice upon her former lover. Not only is she much better versed in local politics, and better positioned; but also, her anger burns hotter than mine. She was the one betrayed; I am merely mourning for the lost People.

These, and many other reasons are why I hate coming to Halamshiral; all of my past visits had been temporary, and never intentional. It was simply on the way from Jader to Val Royeaux, but if I could remake the route, and it didn’t involve weeks of additional journey, I would have chosen a different path.

It is all the harder for me, since I’ve never had the chance to see it in the past, before the tragedy of Dales, and I can only imagine how the Elvhen dreamed of Arlathan, here. How Shartan built his nation, how he taught them what it meant to be free; even though he wasn’t all that certain of it, himself. And I feel a wave of guilt, because I know, I could have - maybe even should have - gone with him. But I decided that repaying my debt to Tevinter was more important; that Shartan had, in the end, won.

Did he win anything at all? Looking around, I can only question my judgement.

Bent necks. Broken People. It’s depressing, visiting, **being** , here. All of the Alienages are a poor sight; but somehow, Halamshiral manages to make it all even worse. Maybe because it was originally inspired by the barely remembered mirages of Arlathan; and seeing it in such a state brings to my mind ruins of the once great city, buried by Evanuris’ wrath.  

Whole city turned into a ghetto; closely watched by the guards from the High Quarter and soldiers stationed in a nearby Winter Palace. The  localization of it is not a coincidence - while certainly luxurious, this residence of Emperors of Orlais was strategically chosen. They knew, Elves were the most likely to rebel for the poor treatment they have been receiving. So the rulers of the nation which conquered Dales have been keeping a close watch over the most likely place where such uprising would gather; the former capital of the fallen country.

Fortunately we do not stay on the streets for long, and report to the Inquisition’s quarters. I suspect it is a subtle insult, marginalization; since they are located on the border of the High Quarter, and a fair distance away from where the festivities are to take place. I carefully avoid thinking of the people who had been evicted to house Inquisition’s forces. I sought Leliana out and she had reassured me they had been sufficiently reimbursed for their trouble. I can only hope her words are true - because I would bet anything they were of Elvhen origin.

To my barely concealed immense relief, Chargers have returned to Skyhold. By the time we had arrived, they were long finished with their tasks. A group of mercenaries such like themselves would only raise tension in people here - and their alertness. Leliana’s spies are much more subtle, and I have no doubts that sufficient numbers have been smuggled into city to allow us an advantageous position, should it come to a battle.

Which, obviously, the leadership is striving to avoid. From my observations, however - because regardless of my misgivings, I venture back onto the streets to gather information - chances of peaceful resolution are slight to none. Celene’s Bards. Gaspard’s Chavaliers. Briala’s spies. And us. There’s enough forces here for a long and drawn out battle, and citizens are wise to feel uneasy about it all.

The Inquisition’s Leadership are under impression Corypheous only plans to prevent the peace talks from succeeding - possibly add fuel to the fire in some way, ensure Orlais is wholly engaged in the internal war. This doesn’t make it any less important to stop him, of course, but they are being a bit… laid-back about it, now that they had finally gotten in.

I disagree with them; although I have kept my opinions to myself thus far. I have no idea what exactly he hopes to accomplish here, or, to be more precise, how could he achieve anything at all. Unless he kills both Celene and Gaspard, and has a valid claimant for the crown, him taking control over Orlais appears… impossible. Simply impossible.

And yet, internally, I do not doubt that this is his goal, however unlikely, improbable, it might seem. The Blighted Magister simply doesn’t aim low, it was apparent in all his previous actions; he plans to be a god, after all. How could mere mortals get in his way? Taking over Orlais would be a first step to establishing his supremacy, and for many reasons, the current geopolitical situation creates a chance for him unlike any other.

The stream on nobles, pouring into Halamshiral to take part in the Game which will be played, is steady. Factions are being formed, interests discussed and deals made. Briala, Gaspard and Celene do not waste time reaching out to all of the arrivals, all the while smuggling more and more of their people inside. The servants within the Winter Palace have all been replaced by Celene, as a sure way to dismiss all of Gaspard’s people. But in doing so, she has, unwittingly, allowed a lot of Briala’s inside; either disregarding her, or underestimating. Perhaps both.

Gaspard immediately responded by replacing all of the city guards. Under the pretext of ensuring safety. As a head of the Orlesian Army, which was never officially removed from him, even when he had disobeyed the crown, it was within his right to do so.

Celene could only swallow this bitter pill; just like before she had to accept the Herald’s refusal to remove Gaspard from the function. She merely doubled the size of her private entourage. Officially, mostly servants - but I know quite a lot of them used to be, or still are, active Bards. Impeccably trained and very, very dangerous people.

Gaspard is no doubt aware of this much better than myself - it’s his head hanging on the line of these plays.

These, and many other games, are being played daily; each of the contenders for power trying to outwit the others in the deadly intrigue.

The interesting thing in all of this is Duchess Florianne. While she is, obviously, in charge of the details behind the ball, outwardly, she seems completely disinterested in the political games around her. A few people - doubtlessly pawns for those at the top - intended to ger her more involved, only to walk out of her chamber disappointed. She is carefully maintaining her neutrality.

Which is incredibly suspicious, for me. She has nothing to gain, really, by behaving like that. All the pretty phrases about her interference being only for the sake of the country are a load of crap - it would have been much better for her to secretly arrange an understanding with one of the warring sides, and help either Gaspard, or Celene, to bring down the other; Briala is too weak of a force to get involved with. That’s what I would have done.

The fact that she doesn’t even attempt it makes me nearly certain she is involved with Corypheus. The only reason why she wouldn’t be making any deals would be having one already in place, and wishing to uphold it. And considering the suspicious nature of the fallen Magister, I, in her position, would also do anything to avoid his scrutiny.

Surprisingly, no one within the Inquisition makes that connection. I think it’s because the lot of them had been so involved with the Orlesian court they had grown used to the meek and disinterested Florianne. They are so blinded by the past, it makes them unable to see the rules have changed. As did the woman.

I watched the woman a few times, commanding the final arrangements, and there was nothing meek about her. No, she was decisive and strong - in fact, I am pretty sure she has a stronger personality than Celene. Maybe she was like this all along; maybe the circumstances forced her to harden up.

Regardless.

She will betray all of them, in the end, and emerge victorious, unless the people around me step up to meet her challenge. So far, they have refused to accept my suggestions; the most I’ve achieved was Leliana reassuring me they’ll keep an eye on her.

Ha. Laughable - from Florianne’s behaviour, it’s plain all preparations are long finished, all pawns and figures placed on a chessboard. They’ll find nothing, and lower their guard, no matter my warnings.

With a heavy sigh, I reach out to the few Wings we have here, and arrange for my presence in the palace. There’s little more I could do - but at the very least, I’ll provide some backup for them. And, more importantly, if things go south, I’ll have access to all the information on time. I’ll be able to decide on the spot how to react.

The Inquisitor with her entourage finally arrive, fair bit late, and barely before the ball. They encountered some trouble on the way from Emerald Graves. I do not enquire about the details, concentrated on my own actions.

Leliana has, true to her word, given me a very nondescript assignment; something along the lines of general situation observation; which allows me to basically do whatever I want. I have been spying, observing, venturing out into the town to get a feel for the atmosphere, and planning on sneaking into the palace. So focused on my tasks, I have managed to forget all of the other troubles plaguing me.

Until Fen comes by in one of the rare moments I am in my small room, awakening all of my emotional turmoil with his mere arrival. I am immediately aware of his presence, and my focus wavers, falters away from the documents in my hands. So attuned to his presence, my eyes are drawn to him.

I refuse myself look up and indulge my meaningless desires. Only a month, and I had missed him. So much. So very much. His calming presence. His ironical quips, the sarcastic  sense of humour, so sharp and pointed. His intelligence, and how I am the one forced to keep up with him, and not the other way around.

Really, I am like moth, flying into the flames because they are bright and shining. And I never learn, each time getting more and more burned. One day, this weakness of mine will get me killed, there’s no doubt about it.

Truthfully, I am fair bit shocked by his presence here. Fen has always cared about propriety, and us, being in my private quarters, behind closed doors - which he had just shut behind him - is barely short of scandalous. Certainly enough to get tongues wagging, which we have been trying to avoid, thus far. Aside from our short disappearance during Hunter’s Moon, we took care to always meet in public. I haven’t even been to his quarters, which are - apparently - full of paintings he had done himself. I must admit to certain curiosity, but I’ve been avoiding that tower like a plague. For many reasons, and not all relating to the discomfort I would feel trespassing without explicit invitation.

My wolf observes me for while, and I can feel his rising amusement at my stubborn refusal to acknowledge him. Finally, he notes, with a laughter in his voice,

_‘Pride. You weren’t invited for the festivities.’_

I raise my head up, blinking at the randomness of his comment, thrown off balance. I suspected a critique in regards to my past, rather unreasonable, escape. Or my current, even more unreasonable, obstinacy. But he just glosses over it, raising a completely different issue?

 _‘It is unlike you to force your way through.’_ Fen adds, tilting his head and resting his back against the closed door. _‘Do you expect any complications?’_

 _‘Fen.’_ I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts. This is such a weighty question, I can’t even begin to think how to answer it. _‘These are Shem we are speaking of, Fen. The two of us had ages to learn; they did not. The problem is, they refuse to listen - and Corypheus is also very old, and very experienced. Certainly not stupid; which is the assumption our fellows seem to operate under. Of course I am expecting complications.’_

 _‘You have a point.’_ Fen concedes way too easily for my taste, frowning thoughtfully and smirking mischievously to his internal musing. Seeing it, I feel a wave of uneasiness running through me. _‘Is there a way for your arrangement to include additional person?’_

 _‘You can’t be considering…’_ I begin with disbelief, but cut myself off mid-sentence. Of course he is. Fen used to be as adventurous as myself, and he sees it as an interesting diversion. Certainly more engaging than waiting around while the events are underway. But the whole point of him not going to the Winter Palace was to avoid humans being… unkind. At least, I hoped to spare him from it. Obviously, Fen could care less about it.

This will force me to make some adjustments. I dislike last-minute changes in plans; it tends to make them patched-up and a gives a higher likelihood of failure.

 _‘I’ll try.’_ I promise, biting my lip while countless scenarios run through my head. He nods, and excuses himself from the room; but I am barely aware of his departure, lost in my planning.

Finally comes day of the ball. We, who aren’t taking part in the festivities, are officially ordered to keep away from the palace, but remain in the vicinity in case of emergency. I barely keep myself from snorting when Leliana speaks her instructions for us. It’s not like she has no suspicions about some of us planning to find our way inside; but she doesn’t ask about anything, nor explicitly forbids us from doing it.

Me and Fen wait for the whole thing to begin, before using the servants’ back entrance. Not an easy thing to do with so many observers watching the the Winter Palace, but the commotion caused by one of the Wings attracts their attention away, and me and Fen use our magic to conceal our presence. It is a risk; but there are a lot of fluctuations of power within the palace. It is highly likely our own, minor, usage of mana will remain unnoticed.

Inside, we dress in the uniforms of the staff, and the Winter Palace is open for us.

Being with Fen so close to me is quite nerve-wrecking, but spying takes too much of me to allow for a split attention. Somehow, we instinctively fall back into old, comfortable habits, and I forget my uneasiness. There’s so much happening in the Winter Palace, all at once!

My eyes narrow, and I feel the beginnings of the derisive sneer, once we get a better grasp of the situation. Celene intends to use the distraction Inquisition provides to accuse Gaspard of breaching the peace arrangements, and killing one from the Council of Heralds. The rumours of the man’s absence are already spreading; and it was well-known he was one of Gaspard’s strongest opponents, and also, the one who pushed for Celene’s enthronement.

The thing is Gaspard wouldn’t have made such an obvious, stupid mistake. While his temper is legendary, the man is too shrewd for this kind of thing. And, considering he is planning on exposing Celene’s inadequacy by the end of the evening, and, should the worst come to bear, force a coup, I do not see what he would have to gain by disposing of the man.

No, it is nearly certain Celene killed the man herself, and now is planning to use this as an opportunity to get rid of her cousin.

Briala, on the other hand, is desperate, trying to get a hold on all of the incriminating fact on both of them, and ensure her own survival. She is well aware that no matter who wins, once the ruler consolidates his or her power, first thing they do would be getting rid of her. She know too much; has too large of a reach; and sways too many people.

I am glad, that I had kept Wings away from the throne plays in Tevinter. The field there is just as vicious, and ruthless, as it is here. In a way, it can be more deadly - because Magisters do not hesitate from personally avenging all the insults and slights. And with the magical potential required to hold the position; as well as common use of blood magic, well. It tends to end swiftly and brutally.

Peace talks. Ha. All of them are like hawks, circling over enemies, trying to judge when is the best time to strike from above.

The one problem is that I still have no idea what Florianne is planning. I share with Fen my suspicions in regards to her, and he agrees with my conclusions. The woman is definitely up to something. Finally, pushed against the wall, we break into her quarters within the palace. I pray to the Creators we aren’t wrong about her, otherwise, there will be a lot to pay for this recklessness. If we are found out.

But we find our proof there, a lot of incriminating correspondence, and finally, I have enough to bring to Leliana. She is not surprised by the sight of me in the fray at all, though her eyebrows rise when she spots Fen a few steps away. Unfortunately, by the time we manage to get the information to her, the Inquisitor with her companions had already followed the tip given to her by the treacherous duchess.

I want to swear viciously. I had fucking warned them! But there’s no time for that. With a dreadful premonition, I bow to her, properly playing up my servant disguise, before promptly going out of the ballroom. Praying that we aren’t too late, me and Fen rush upstairs, and encounter a group of armed Venatori.

There’s no time to think, or to consider the pros and cons of the situation. Without a second wasted, I reach to my magic, and Fade Step to the side, and then behind them. Fen also channels his magic, forced to take off his amulet, since he had to leave his staff behind. Soon, I feel the soothing layer of protective barrier over my skin, and fall between the enemies more boldly, while my wolf freezes the lot of them with a few gestures. It takes less than two minutes, and all fifteen are dead on the floor.

I had forgotten how powerful he really was. I was completely safe, at all times, his barrier not faltering even for a second while he was channeling a second spell. No other mage I knew was capable of this kind of focus - but then, comparing him to them is just inconceivable.

I feel a sudden surge of happiness that he still trusts me enough to show his full potential before me. And yes, while I have to admit it is significantly lesser than before - he could have frozen whole ballroom, once, without much effort - it is still far beyond anyone else on this side of the Veil. Maybe, if he regained his full potential, he could actually challenge others, now. Maybe.

I still don’t know why he isn’t at his full strength. So many questions. So little answers.

But there’s no time for it now - and maybe, there never will be. We are both busy people, and most likely, we will never be able to afford the time to answer them all. Most likely, I will have to find out in bits and pieces. And be patient.

I’ve waited this long. I can wait some more.

On the outside, we encounter the Inquisitor, accompanied by Cassandra, Vivienne and Dorian. Most suitable entourage for this, mostly diplomatic, engagement. The multiple bodies surrounding them, however, give an entirely different testimony. They have been kept busy.

‘Solas! What are you doing here?’ Ellana sounds caught completely off-guard, and I cast a surprised glance at my companion. He hasn’t informed her of his plans?

‘Fea was concerned about duchess Florienne. Evidently, there was some credence to her concerns; alas, Leliana has dismissed her words.’ He says calmly, and I see Vivienne and Cassandra revising their opinion of me, from their not-so-covert looks thrown my way.

‘We have no time for this.’ I interject decisively, before this conversation reveals any details I wouldn’t want to share. ‘I believe there’s something for you to do. Inquisitor.’

‘Right.’ She nods, and leads us out, and down the few flights of stairs.

It is kind of amazing how, in spite of the fierce battle upstairs, none of it seems to have reached the ballroom. People are still twirling around on the dance floor - I decisively squash away the jealousy - and politicking. Petty games, and important games, and treachery and betrayal all clad in flowery words and beautiful cloth.

I didn’t consider it before, but now that I have a moment to look around, while the others are discussing the strategy, the Winter Palace has, unfortunately, been refashioned to suit the Orlesian sense of taste. Gold and glitter; only a trace of Elvhen in the careful architecture is all that remains. The humans had stolen the place, and made it their own.

The people in masks suit this farce well. Pretenders and liars; they use these ridiculous masks to cheat their way through. Make it all easier, hiding their expressions away.

Yes, one could say I hate Orlais, and wouldn’t be far off with this judgement. I do not hate them, exactly. I abhor them, and what they represent; and how they represent it. In the end, if I have a chance to watch the Empire crumble, I think I’ll take it. In spite of my severe dislike of wars, and the way these always involve innocents.

Florianne’s - Corypheous’ - plan is surprisingly simple. A touch too dramatic, and theatrical, but I suspect this to be the Duchess’ input, rather than the magister’s preference.

Kill the empress and the other contender for the throne. Get rid of all supporters of the two - most of them present, in a show of loyalty for their patrons. And, with the country thrown into confusion, seize the crown, by forcing the Council of Heralds, conveniently all also gathered here, to crown a new Empress, coincidentally the closest living relative of Celene’s.

Having further support of the Venatori, I think Florianne might have succeeded in taking over the country. Now, at the sight of Ellana and her companions still alive, she purses her lips, and pales, but proceeds with her plans. I’ve got to give it to her, at the very least, she is brave. Even though she has no chance of gaining anything, anymore, she still intends on at least attempting to fulfill her promise.

Ellana clearly has enough of her advisors deliberating over the best course of action, and instead, petitions directly to the court to listen to her. A large transgression.This directness is not how the game is played - but she is an outsider.

And of course, they loved her. They adored her while she walked among them, and this support makes them overlook how unheard this kind of situation was before.

I am frustrated, I must admit, how easily she bends others to her will. How effortlessly it comes to her, while I struggle for months before achieving anything at all. She is a natural, and all the same, she is just so innocent and kind no one minds these manipulations, because they all know it is accidental. She really had no intentions of doing so….

Announcing Florianne’s betrayal throws all of the duchess’ plans into disarray. It also forces all others to reconsider the danger Corypheus poses - and suddenly, unexpectedly, the Inquisitor is the one to make a decision who will hold the power in Orlais. Her solution, a Triumvirate, wholly represents Ellana’s naivety, and inability to assess the situation. I have a mixed feelings about this, while they announce, after literally hours of deliberation, the arrangement.

I watch Briala, struggling to keep her face even and unconcerned. I watch Gaspard, with his arms crossed, certain his fingers are brusing his forearms from the strength he is clenching them with. I watch Celene’s stony face, and I am sure there’s a deadly intent glinting within.

The Inquisitor might have forced them to work together, for now, but it certainly won’t last.

 _‘Pride?’_ Asks Fen, and I smile blandly.

 _‘Go on, Fen, claim a dance with your Inquisitor. She has certainly worked hard, tonight.’_ I wave my hand vaguely in Ellana’s direction.

_‘And yet it does not meet your approval.’_

I let out a slow sigh.

 _‘I don’t know, Fen. On one hand, I am satisfied it turned out this way, for there’s no surer guarantee that Orlais will fall apart. On the other…’_ I look again in Briala’s direction.

Here walks out a woman who had hopes of gaining everything, achieving a position and influence unheard of for one of our kind among humans; disappointed by the person she had least expected to go counter to her wishes. Briala has gambled, relying on the fact Elvhen Inquisitor would understand her cause and support her - and lost everything.

On the surface, of course, the Triumvirate is the most fair solution, which puts her at no disadvantage. In reality, she will be the first one to fall under the axe; because the remaining two will unify in their aversion to being forced to work with an elf against her. The moment Inquisition’s attention will be engaged elsewhere, Briala will die.

An accident, of course.

And then, the royal cousins will turn to play out the game between themselves. This time, with no pesky interlopers.

I have a sudden idea, and turn around, swiftly.

_‘I’ve got to one last thing to deal with Fen. I’ll see you later.’_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I got pretty liberal with the plot of the Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts. So what. I like my version better.  
> I always thought it ridiculous they simply couldn’t return to the ball the way they came, in the first place. I know it was to force us to have more exploration, but really. It was just stupid, running around the place as if they could simply break through the door behind them. Any mage could easily blast through the wood. So I skipped this particular part.  
> I apologize for the delay in the chapter, unfortunately, I’ve been a bit sick lately, and unable to form coherent thoughts. The next chapter should be done by the end of the week, this time, unless something happens, again.  
> Dear KasonSama, I do not think that Fean’Na and Iron Bull hate each other, at the moment. Fean’Na is wary of him, and what he might do to her in the name of his beliefs - and vice versa. Unfortunately, I can’t imagine their relationship doing anything but worsening - especially if he ever finds out her true identity. Sorry to disappoint you.  
> Now, as to the name. Of course, you are free to have your own take on it, but personally, I pronounce it Fean Na with a definite pause there, and 'e' for Fean is like in lead; the a in ea is more pronounced a, and the a in Na is also strong a, both somewhat like A in Anne. Sorry I can't help you with it properly, but I have absolutely no idea how it would be in dictionary terms. Still, I hope it was clear enough.


	43. Wavering Pride

**Wavering Pride**

Leaving the ballroom, I breathe out a sigh of relief. Being this close to Fen, and yet unable to fully reach out to him, has been particularly trying throughout the evening. And while there’s a definite twinge of regret, that I’ll be unable to claim my own dance with him, part of me realizes it’s for the best. Not only both of our carefully constructed personas would suffer a heavy blow - because how do you explain a skill of formal dancing from two elves who claim to come from relatively humble origins - but also, it would have been a very nerve wrecking experience. I do not think I would have been able to fully conceal my feelings, if I were to be in his arms, doing one of the few things which still bring me an unblemished joy.

Still… I wish things were different.

I break into first set of feminine rooms I encounter, and scouring through the wardrobe, find a suitable attire for myself.

The dress, at first, is draped on me like on a hanger, clearly intended for a more defined female. But after few adjustments to the corset, and twiddling with the ribbons, it is nearly there. It remains uncomfortable, and restricts my movement. I shudder uneasily, feeling terribly exposed without my armor.

At the very least, even if it is a **miserable** shadow in comparison with Arlathan’s masterful craftsmanship, it is white. Reminiscent of my former status - and I’ve never thought I would miss being a part of an aristocracy.

To be truthful, it is not really about the status. Being Wings’ Quicksilver more than makes up for the superficiality of June’s favourite. I miss being the person I was back then - my hands clean of blood, my cynicism considerably toned down. I miss my youth, when there was so much I didn’t know, and so many choices I haven’t made. Before I knew the full scale of bitterness, of despair.

But I have a limited time for my errand, and certainly, Winter Palace is not a safe place for melancholy. Shaking off the gloom, I hesitate from adding a final touch to the mask over my face. Finally, indulging my vanity, I slip off the brown wig, letting the silver wave of my hair to fall over my shoulders. They are a mess, though, and working out the knots takes a few more minutes of the precious little time I have. Still, no aristocrat would ever walk out with a hair like a birds’ nest, so if I want my disguise to work, I need to make sure they are seemingly flawless.

Walking with my posture straight like a stick, and a decisive gait, I take a different look at the Winter Palace, as servants frightfully scurry out of my way. As always, perspective changes depending on one’s standing; and while I remain depreciative towards the **improvements** made by humans, the luxury of the place is undeniable.

There are elven guards in front of Briala’s quarters, just as I expected there would be. She had arranged for the rooms beforehand, by some trick or another, most likely under a false name, long before the Masquerade.

‘Lady Briala is not accepting any visitors.’ Informs me a lean, heavily armed man, preventing me from entering. I roll my eyes, stating firmly,

‘She will receive me. Tell Briala Fean’Na Quicksilver would like a moment of her time.’

He has a sour look on his face, but my tone and certainty make him send one of his people inside to inquire of Briala’s opinion. It usually works, the trick is all about putting forth as much arrogance as possible, and people will obey. Only some remain unmoved by the near order, regardless of how they remain outside of one’s jurisdiction.

I smirk triumphantly under my mask when the servant soon comes running, allowing me a passage through the door. He leads me through the reception room to Briala’s office, and at an impatient flick of the woman’s hand, leaves us alone.

Briala is standing with her back turned on me, looking down from the window. The defeated slump of her shoulders makes my heart go out to her. She really, really tried, and I know how bitter the taste of utter defeat is.

‘Your presence is not unexpected. Somehow, I knew you must have been in the vicinity.’ The redhead elven female speaks quietly, leaning against the windowsill. ‘You simply can’t keep away from the thick of it, can you, Quicksilver?’

‘Interesting supposition. What is the basis of it?’ I inquire curiously, coming to her side.

The view is spectacular - if there’s one thing I can’t fault Orlesians for, is their design of the gardens. The climate in Tevinter is too harsh for lush greenery, and in Arlathan, the choice was to shape everything with magic, which made the plants grow wild, and untamed… but also quite chaotic. In Winter Palace, the trees, bushes and flowers, are all positioned and fashioned with precision. Nothing is out of place, and the arrangement, especially from this high up, is quite amazing, even lightened merely by a moonglow.

‘My people have discovered your presence in Haven, right before the tragedy. Following your example, I pulled everyone out. Even if I didn’t know your exact reason, I was certain there must have been one.’ She finally faces me, and narrows her yellow-green eyes. ‘Turns out, I was right to make this bet.’

‘I have to wonder, why have you come.’ She adds, after a moment of silence, when she realizes I have no intention to comment on her findings. ‘Do you intend to gloat? You have warned me against trusting Celene, I remember, and it turns out you were entirely correct in your predictions.’

‘Why would I do that?’ I ask, indignantly. I do not consider myself to be cruel, or petty. We might have had our disagreements, but it was all settled in a gentle manner, in the past. And she had never gone against my people in Orlais, even once, although she must have felt slighted by my rejection. ‘None of us is infallible; your only mistake was that you wanted to believe in her.’

‘I did.’ Briala admits with a clear edge of bitterness in her words. ‘I wanted Celene to be a hope for our people, a chance at finding our place again. I can see just how badly have I misjudged her; and now, not only the fate of the elves in the empire will worsen, but soon, I’ll be ten feet below the ground, myself.’

What really strikes me is the resignation with which she accepts the inevitability of her fate. The woman is fighter, a stubborn and unrelenting leader, and this broken state I find her in is worse than pitiful.

‘I came here to offer you refuge, once Orlais becomes too dangerous.’ I say quietly, unexpectedly grateful for the mask over my face, covering the wide array of emotions her words have evoked. I would hate to hurt her with my completely inappropriate condescension - but I can’t help feeling the way I do. The one courtesy I can grant her is to keep it to myself.

‘What for?’ Asks clearly annoyed Briala. ‘Should I leave my people behind to suffer, evading my fate? If my death is what appeases Celene’s and Gaspard’s rage, then so be it.’

‘You know that your death, or survival, have nothing to do with how they’ll treat elves afterwards.’ I counter evenly. ‘There’s always hope while we remain alive.’

‘What hope?’ The female in front of me scoffs bitingly. ‘We have no country to call our own. We are split into numerous factions. Elves strike against elves, because of their heritage, or to please their human masters. There’s no leader who could possibly unify us, and even if we did, humans outnumber us ten to one.’ Briala shakes her head, and a few locks of her hair fall out of the perfectly arranged bun.

I hesitate for a moment, before taking a step closer and rearranging her hairdo, whispering softly in her ear,

‘Oh, but you are so wrong about that. There’s someone who can achieve literally anything, if he puts his mind to it.’

I had not intended on revealing that… But I would have regretted letting her fall so much more.

Briala pierces me with a searching gaze. ‘And here I believed you indifferent to our fate. ’ She also keeps her voice low, barely within a hearing range.

‘I’ve already said more than I should. My lord shan’t be pleased with me.’ I murmur, and from the steely resolve in my gaze Briala discerns I’ll not say a word more on the topic. But somehow, it is enough; there’s a new fire ignited within her eyes. A flicker of defiance, of unrelenting stubbornness, which was so painfully missing before.

‘Very well. Keep your secrets - while I’ll try my best to stay alive.’

‘You and me both.’ I shake my head with a crooked smile, and a sudden understanding sparks between us.

I nod on departure, and leave Briala’s rooms with decidedly mixed feelings. On one hand, I firmly believe the woman deserved the little bit of hope I’ve granted her. And if, no, **when** , Fen begins restoration of Elvhenan, he’ll need talented people like her - it would be such a damn shame is she simply gave up now. On the other, I am uncertain how Fen’ll react once he finds out about my indiscretion.

I have certainly overstepped myself - especially since Fen hadn’t mentioned anything about it. But if there’s one thing I know about him, it’s that he’ll be unable to remain still with the way things are right now. I’m sure he would have preferred if I didn’t say anything at all; any such premature words could tip the scale against the success of task ahead. And I’m sure he would have preferred if I didn’t force the mantle of leader upon him - even though there’s no other way; it must be him.

Traversing through the palace back to the secret stash where I’ve placed my things, I nearly bump into Fen and Inquisitor speaking, in a secluded corridor. Cursing my rotten luck and inattention, at the very last moment, I hide behind the statue. I should have realized they were in the vicinity beforehand - Fen’s presence shines like a beacon, if one knows what to look for.

But I did not.

Unfortunately, even though my cover is poorly chosen, I know I can’t go back the way I came from. The patrolling soldiers will soon arrive to that part of the palace; I’ve learned their schedules by heart, while making the initial plans of the excursion of my own. The only thing I can pray for is that Fen realizes I’m nearby - not a hard thing for one like him - and takes this conversation elsewhere, allowing me safe passage.

He does realize it, too; his eyes gloss over my hiding spot a mere seconds after my arrival. Only he apparently has no intention of accommodating my silent prayers, and continues on, as if there’s nothing amiss. I swear at him internally - and then gasp softly, once I realize what’s the topic they are speaking of. Namely, myself. Now, I am even more eager to be gone - and understand Fen’s actions even less.

‘Fea seems to have managed quite well for herself.’ I hear Ellana noting with a strange tinge to her voice, so unusual it takes me a moment to place.

She is envious.

‘But she is not happy.’ Fen says, and I feel heat rising to my cheeks. Of course he knows. It was really naive of me to hope for hiding it from him. I close my eyes, burning with mortification, before opening them again, just as his gaze again brushes over the shadowed space between the wall and statue where I found my temporary refuge. He really wants me to hear this; to know that he knows. The question is - why? Why would he push this upon me?

‘Just how exactly ensuring her happiness became your duty? Do you plan on following her at all times?’ The young Dalish doesn’t hide her irritation, and jealousy. I’m distinctly uncomfortable - this is, should be, a private moment between the two of them. What the fuck are you thinking, Fen?

‘If that’s what it takes.’

‘I just can’t understand you sometimes, Solas. It’s like there’s a whole lot within you that’s a complete stranger.’ Ellana shakes her head in dejection, looking at him expectantly.

I bite on my lip to stifle a groan, hearing her words. You have no idea, Da’len. No idea.

But then, neither do I, at this moment. What to think of this, how to take it. I very much fear it is Fen’s guilt speaking, his overblown sense of responsibility - but if so, why would he inform me of it? In such a convoluted way? It’s just so… unlike him, to use such underhanded tricks and indiscretion.

Fen remains silent, not offering any further explanations. Finally, she sighs, and leaves, to my relief in opposite direction than myself.

My wolf observes her departure with a barely discernible frown, until he is certain his Inquisitor has gone beyond the hearing range. Then, he turns and calls out in my direction,

_‘Spying on people is quite an atrocious habit to have, Pride.’_

I scoff in response, coming out from behind the statue.

 _‘Come off it. It is not spying, when the other party is aware of someone listening in; and you_ **_were_ ** _perfectly aware of my presence.’_

 _‘Perhaps.’_ Amusement rings clearly in his response, and I find myself astounded. He is not even denying it?

I am thoroughly confused, but disregard it, pointing out instead,

_‘Shouldn’t you go after her, and claim your dance? The Inquisitor appeared quite cross with you.’_

_‘I imagine Cullen will use this opportunity, and console her in my stead.’_ Fen replies with evident indifference, and my eyebrows rise in disbelief. Doesn’t it bother him, at all?

Fen takes me courtly by the arm and leads down the stairs, disregarding the curious looks of the passers-by who measure us with their eyes - two elves dressed in finery seemingly beyond their station. Once we leave the building, and go into the vast gardens, he takes pity on me and my turmoiled thoughts.

_‘You seem to have misconstrued mine and Ellana’s relationship, Fean’Na.’_

My heart flutters in agitation, and I feel the beginnings of a blush. But I can't simply let this statement go unchallenged. Putting my hand over his, I stop our leisurely stroll, and look him in the eyes.

 _‘Have I?’_ I ask softly, and after a tense moment, Fen escapes with his eyes. But he doesn’t take his hand back, so I feel a beginnings of weak hope shining through the gloom in my heart.

_‘It isn’t a simple matter.’_

_‘Nothing ever is.’_ I counter evenly, reclaiming my hand, and taking a step back. I cross my arms, and look at him expectantly. He was the one to start this particular line of arguments; more, he made his point in a way I simply can’t ignore.

The scent of roses in full bloom around us should be enticing; instead, I find it stifling and nauseating. Too sweet, too strong, too overwhelming, when I am grasping for an even breath. I am starting to feel slightly dizzy, by the time he replies.

 _‘I’ve met her at a very difficult time, for both of us.’_ Fen says quietly. _‘She reminded me of you.’_

 _‘Was I ever that naive?’_ I laugh, making a joke of the issue that has my heart in tatters. I really do not want to hear how she has managed to sway him, to touch his heart. But then, I can’t bring myself to run away, again. There’s only so much cowardice I can display, before losing all self-respect.

Suddenly, I have a moment of revelation. It’s unbelievable how well he knows me… How he can use the strengths and weaknesses of my character against me. I should hate it. But instead, I am elated that it is still, or maybe **again,** the case - and hope that I can achieve the same, soon.

Fen spinned the situation in such a way I can’t ignore it, anymore. Of course. He made me embarrassed, and confused, and exposed in a very uncomfortable way, to ensure my pride makes me stay, and listen, until the very end, no matter how much I would prefer to avoid it.

Had Ellana been an accidental adventure, of no import to him, I wouldn’t have minded. Why, I’m the last one allowed to throw any stones – considering Shartan, with whom I had spent many long years... Not to mention Valotaar. It’s not like I remained chaste through all the time we were missing one another’s time of awakening. The problem is that I’ve always, in the end, considered him first. Fen was always the shadow, cast on every single one of my other relationships, always at the back of my mind.

And I do not think it was the same for him.

 _‘She has a strength of will comparable to yours.’_ Fen replies calmly. _‘Unbreakable resolve.’_

 _‘And yet, you have no problems bending it to your whims’_ I murmur to myself. He smiles knowingly at that, and I curse myself in my thoughts. I’ve forgotten that his hearing is as good as mine, after years of being surrounded by the quicklings.

I can be a right hypocrite, I am aware of it - and from his slight smile, Fen knows it well, too. Because I have also allowed him to change my mind a few times in the past. Maybe not quite so easily as Ellana - I am more accustomed to his tricks and manipulations - but, nonetheless. It happened. Again, I am being overly critical of the girl.

_‘I’ve treated her like the child she is, deflecting her infatuation with me. Until I had a… moment of weakness, after a particular display of courage and will on her part.’_

I close my eyes, hiding away the pain in them. I really didn’t want to know that.

 _‘You are under no obligation to explain yourself before me, Fen.’_ I say quietly, the truth of my own words carving wounds in my heart.

 _‘I wish you considered that I might_ **_want_ ** _to.’_ Frustration rings in his voice, and I finally look at him again, in spite of the turmoil of my feelings exposed in my gaze. But I see the very same thing reflected back in Fen’s stormy eyes, and it encourages me to pose the question which has been on my mind ever since our first meeting.

 _‘You were the one to say we aren’t friends anymore.’_ I carefully keep the bitterness away from my words, but I know my wolf can read it anyway.

Why do I bother with pretending anymore?

Ah, right. Of course. My pride wouldn’t stand an unseemly display of weakness.

 _‘That wasn’t my brightest moment.’_ Fen admits with no small regret. _‘But do be more lenient with me, Pride. Try placing yourself in my position - I have already reconciled myself with the fact that I might not see you, again, during this time of my awakening. And then, there you were. Considering my unresolved situation with Ellana, as well as other observers in the camp, I said the first thing that came to my mind and wasn’t untrue. It was only later that I realized how it could be taken.’_

 _‘What_ **_did_ ** _you have in mind, then?’_ I stretch my arm in front of me, and look at my hand, maintaining the air of indifference. I do not even know who I am trying to fool, anymore - him… or myself. Neither is working particularly well.

My throat is nervously constricted, as I wait with baited breath for his response, and Fen sighs heavily.

 _‘Oh, Fean’Na. My Pride.’_ He crosses the distance between us, and captures my hand, forcing me to turn and face him. The intensity in his eyes makes me blush, and I briefly escape with my own, again, feeling blood pumping wildly in my ears. His fingers begin to delicately caress my palm, as he continues to speak. _‘We stopped being friends the moment I cast off being simply a wolf. You should know better than this; we’ve been so much_ **_more_ ** _ever since.’_

I smile hesitantly, shyly, feeling the overwhelming joy. Some part of me is disbelieving, that this is all happening; waiting for a wakeup call, for end of the miraculous dream. The reasonable part of me reminds me that there’s still a lot my wolf is hiding from me. The uncertain part is unsure how to deal with the situation.

On the whole, I must admit that having all of my desires answered leaves me rather… confused how to react. How to be happy. I’ve never been in this situation, and I feel like I need to hold back, to make sure I understand everything, before diving head down. There must be a catch.

There always is.

Fen understands that this is all quite sudden and unexpected, and smiling softly at my flustered state, lets go of my hand, and bows deeply; inviting me for a dance. Tactfully giving me a much needed reprieve.

Accepting his offer is more of an instinct, than conscious decision; my mind is still going haywire, shock and joy and… yes, I must admit, suspicion, mingling together and creating a chaos. Yet the thought of rejecting his hand hasn’t even crossed my mind. Denying him before has been incredibly painful for me; now, when no of the previous concerns are valid, I do not hesitate stepping into his embrace.

It is only now that I become aware of the music reaching the gardens from the ballroom. Before, I was so overwhelmed, I haven’t noticed. It is very quiet, but the melody is clear and precise, and Fen moves with assurance and expertise; I simply fall in step with him, allowing the simple joy of movement and closeness and tune to weather out my confusion.

He holds me delicately, as if I could break in his hands, and I can see joy in his gaze, reflecting mine. Now that I know for certain my sentiments are returned, I can view the whole thing with more distance than before. It calms me, settles me down, and with serenity in mind, I can come to a sound decision. As the final notes ring in the air, and we stop, gazing each other in the eyes, I finally reply.

_‘I’ll wait, then. Until you settle your affairs with Ellana… and until you are ready to tell me everything.’_

A sudden shadow crosses his eyes, gone as soon as it appeared; but I am certain there’s something that I won’t like, in his explanations. He lowers his head, and places a feather-like kiss on my hand.

_‘As my lady wishes.’_

I blush heavily, suddenly bashful. Like a teenager. He had always made me remember feelings I have long forgotten; and the spot where he brushed his lips against my skin seems to burn. No, I am the one who is burning, my heart beating wildly, again.

Creators, he makes a complete mess of me.

And he is quite aware of it, too - I see a slight, self-satisfied tilt of his lips, as he looks at my flushed face.

In the meantime, the night sky has slowly become more gray, tinted with the first rays of sunshine. It reminds us of time and place. I have to return the things I’ve stolen back to the wardrobe, as well as change into my armour. Fen should, most likely, rejoin the other companions of the Inquisitor, for the debriefing and report. With a courtly bows to one another, we swiftly turn and go in opposite directions, off to our tasks.

Nearly running, I realize there’s a light skip to my steps, and that, almost in spite of myself, I am smiling, wildly. The shapes are sharper, colours clearer, the light brighter and more intense. Or maybe that’s just me - I’m more intense, more interested, more involved.

What a miracle happiness is, allowing me to see the same things with a much different tint to them. It’s like I’ve been blind, for the longest of times, and now, someone had returned my eyesight to me.

And the world is beautiful, again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! They did get to dance, in the end.  
> Last chapter was lots of plot, little fluff. This chapter is quite in reverse. I have intended for this scene to appear a bit later, actually - but then my plot sort of evolved, and I realized, Fen wouldn’t have kept her hanging, once he realized she was misunderstanding the situation.  
> Of course, we are far from done with the drama, and they are by no means fully reconciled - but you all can see now where it is all leading. ^^ I guess now that the cat is out of the bag, the story will become boring and predictable for you, won’t it? :P (I hope not, actually.)  
> I hope I’ll manage to keep you all entertained, in spite of it. We have still quite a lot ahead of us.
> 
> How you pronounce Fean'Na is, of course, completely up to you. I was inpired by the Falon'Din's name while naming my heroine, in fact, and I wanted to have this kind of accent, while partially retaining her name. So, those of you who were thinking it being a Fe Anna weren't all that far off ^^. Fey Ah Nah is quite close to my own pronounciation.


	44. Regretful Pride

**Regretful Pride**

After tumultuous, sleepless night, I welcome the routine of morning assignments with relief. I know I am incapable of doing anything requiring complicated thought processes, with my mind still preoccupied by Fen’s words, turning around them in circles. I would thoroughly screw up anything more than the most basics of tasks.

Fortunately, there’s little left for us to be done; the details of the alliance between the Orlais and Inquisition are being hammered down, and spies and scouts have nothing of import left. The moles are long in position. The crucial political figures, like the slowly losing in importance Council of Heralds, have been investigated and analyzed. The initial outbreak of unrest in the city in response to the events in the Winter Palace has been quelled; and the streets, while tense, stay peaceful.

In the end, only one last task remains. We are trying to track down the remainder of Florianne’s Venatori contacts, with no success. After the countess's failure, all that remained had either gone into a deep underground, or simply left the country. Since Florianne herself remains silent, there are no solid leads to follow.

Out of both curiosity, and boredom, I spend my time listening to the rumours. Unsurprisingly, there are many; and the majority of them focuses on the Inquisition. About interference - which is diplomatically referred to as aid, or assistance - in the Orlesian internal matters. Personally, I call it meddling where they do not belong; and I doubt the scorn, or injured pride, will be forgotten. But that is neither here, nor there; and I do not think that an impediment to the Inquisition’s ambitions is necessarily a bad thing.

They also talk of the Triumvirate; and I am astonished at the naivety and hopefulness with which it is perceived. By both humans, and elves. They see it as a sign of improvement, of cooperation. The word is cautiously optimistic, and I am forced to bite down on my tongue, and keep my derision leashed. Will these shems never learn?

They’ve had years to come to terms with the fact that neither Gaspard, nor Celene, will back down. The Inquisition hasn’t offered any magical solution - the two of them were forced to yield, and sheathe their weapons. Temporarily. There’s no fucking way it will last, because neither one truly wants it; and Inquisition cannot remain vigilant forever.

And, of course, there’s a great deal spoken about the Inquisition’s members. Most prominently featured, of course, is the Inquisitor herself. She appears a faultless saint, if one would believe the circulating gossip. Kind, thoughtful, intelligent, beautiful beyond compare… I would have been resentful, had Fen not assuaded my sole concern. Let them speak what they want, I do not care, as long as Fen does not share these beliefs - as long as I am still first in his thoughts and heart.

Interestingly, Fen’s predictions regarding Cullen’s intentions towards Ellana turn out to be spot on. I wouldn’t have seen it without his prompting, but now his infatuation seems blatantly obvious. Hindsight is always twenty-twenty.

I do not blame myself for the oversight, I hardly knew the former Templar. I paid little to no attention to the man, I’ve never cared to. Before. I quickly judged him to be quite harmless, the least threatening out of people in power within the Inquisition, and shifted my vigilance elsewhere. Now, however, when it looks like he might get peripherally involved in my own affairs, I take a second look.

Undeniably, there’s a certain, old-fashioned nobility in him, a sense of honour and devotion often-times lacking in many of his Templar peers. Cullen is a well-trained professional, and I can see a resemblance between him and Ryanth. But then, Ryanth has been an inspiration for many young recruits before his defection; so it’s not all that surprising.

And Ellana had accepted Cullen’s dance invitation. From the way her ears flush whenever it is mentioned, she is not completely indifferent to him.

And it is mentioned quite often, especially by the Spymistress and Lady Diplomat, both deriding excessive amounts of humour from the quite innocent, in my opinion, action. Of course, even this little from the former Templar, celibate his whole life, screams of beyond platonic devotion. But then, it is none of their business.

I spare a moment to think that the poor girl has her love life analyzed from every angle, by everyone, in the damn organization, simply because of her position. I remind myself that it comes with responsibilities - I was frequently an object of vigorous speculations, which incited a whole wide array of emotions from me. I’ve faced disparaging labels, and attempts to set me up with people both from strangers seeking to take advantage of my position, and from those closest to me, seeking to improve my situation in life. I went from pale to disturbed to downright livid; as they all strayed further and further away from reality and my wishes.

Being - becoming - Fea put a stop to these situations, and I’ve breathed a sigh of relief. Mostly. Quicksilver still had to face, from time to time, people fawning and speculating over her. But I’ve learned to cope, and distance myself.

It is the more sour one of the many flavours of power. People just become overly interested in you, and the lack of privacy in certain regards can be daunting. The word ‘discretion’ gains a whole new value when everyone’s eyes are upon you.

Ellana bears with it, but just barely. The flashes of irritation in her eyes are a tell-tale sign that she is stretched too thin, and I am once again blindsided by her youth. She is one of the youngest members of the Inquisition, barely having left her childhood behind. Out of her companions, only Dorian is similar in age with her, and the responsibility on him is incomparably lighter.

Knowing that now she needs Fen to support her, I back out, ensuring that he isn’t forced to choose between the responsibility over her, and my feelings. This is not the time to stake my claim, and further discourage the poor child.

It is a bit disheartening. A touch uncomfortable. Frankly, I am struggling with my decision, unwilling to allow her even this much, my jealousy once again making things harder on me. And so soon after we established an understanding! But I squash down all of these completely unreasonable feelings; after all I do trust Fen that he meant his words.

Finally, after the negotiations are finished, we are back on the road to Skyhold. The scouts are sent ahead, along with the Inquisitor’s companions, and, on our way back, we stray towards Emerald Graves, while the remainder of the expedition travels straight through mountains.

Apparently Ellana - Inquisition - has left some unfinished business here, and the scout unit was sent along to ensure its swift conclusion.

Tracking down giants is by no means strenuous, it is trapping them that requires our full attention. The most important part is to ensure the creatures are caught one by one; fighting the whole herd of them at once is… unwise.

We set our camp in the early evening. Ellana wisely decided that no matter the strategy we are going to adopt, being well-rested remains crucial for the execution. I cannot disagree with it… Even though I dearly wish I could.

A few steps away from the temporary campsite, lay ruins. Large blocks of felled structures, overgrown with vines and moss are haunting me. Stepping lightly on the lush grass springing from between remainders of the pavement, I look at the tablets on the ground. Most of them are cracked and unreadable, wind and time washed out the meaning of the words. I remain undecided whether to feel saddened by the lost connection, or relieved that no familiar names can be seen.

We shouldn’t be here, we shouldn’t disturb the sleeping. Chased by the thoughts of trespassing and sacrilege, I direct my steps away from the memory of devastation and tragedy. I have no right to mourn here.

However, against my wishes, I encounter Inquisitor and her companions near the crumbled entrance, and my sense of duty pushes me to wander back alongside with them. These types of ruins could have hidden, ages old wards within, containing deadly traps for the unwary - and I would be damned if Ellana died in such stupid way on my watch.

They spread around, poking and searching and inspecting. Varric reaches out, and stops himself just short of actually touching the remainder of some sculpture. I grimace, feeling the blood in my mouth. I have barely stopped myself from screaming out a warning.

They’re hopeless. One would think that with their experience, such amateour mistakes wouldn’t be made.

To be fair, that’s mostly my irritation speaking. Truthfully, they haven’t made any really dangerous mistakes. I simply dislike playing a nursemaid.

‘Daisy would have loved this.’ Varric mutters to himself, and raises his voice, ‘Boss, any idea what was here?’

‘I think your guess is as good as mine, Varric.’ If I were to make a wager, I would bet that Ellane is a bit irritated. Her reply is terse, and nearly scathing. Is she still bitter about Fen?

Then again, were I in her position, I would be.

‘But you are Dalish. All this squeaky gibberish on the walls must mean a bit more for you than it does for me.’ The dwarf points to the runes undaunted.

‘Some sort of palace?’ But there’s no conviction in her voice.

It reminds me, once again, that in Dalish clans only Keepers have any knowledge of the written Elvhen. Another reason why I do not particularly like Dalish. Is there any justification for hogging the knowledge so close to their chests? Surely there’s nothing to lose in **sharing**.

‘Doesn’t feel like one.’ Counters Dorian, coming closer to a felled remains of wall and investigating the weathered carvings.

Will they ever shut their yapping traps?

‘A temple of some sort, maybe?’ The mage continues, oblivious to my growing irritation.

Frustrated with the inane chatter, I finally speak up, cutting the discussion short.

‘It’s mausoleum. If it would please you to show some **respect** and shut up?’ I snap angrily, with a quick prayer to Falon’Din, apologising for rising my voice in his house.

My angry reaction brings me a few incredulous glances, but thankfully, they keep their comments to themselves. Ellana sends me a cursory look, before bowing and whispering a prayer of her own. Damn, if this keeps up, the girl will honestly raise in my esteem.

I am about to suggest returning to the campsite, pointing out that disturbing the burial sites is in singularly bad taste; but the words die in my mouth when melodious voice recites from some distance.

_‘Here lies Shartan, the First King of Dales, forever waiting for the return of one and only Pride.’_

In other circumstances, I would have marvelled at the careful modulation with which Fen insured the message would carry. My wolf never does anything without reason… But currently, my head empties of thoughts, leaves scattered by the wind. Mindlessly, drawn almost against my will, I follow the sound, and reach the marble tablet in the center of the clearing.

There’s nothing elaborate, no murals, no sculptures, to indicate that this particular tablet is somehow more special than the countless others. So like Shartan; sharp-edged and clean-cut and never looking for praise or attention. Aside from mine.

I swallow thickly, my eyes glaze. In death, Shartan is just like he was in life. And only the engraved wings fashioned into a crown, and marble, rather than less durable stone. He wanted me to see him, one last time.

‘Is it truly… Shartan’s…?’ The Dalish Da’len whispers from behind my back, her voice dropped in awe. ‘Solas, can you confirm it for certain?’

‘Yes, I am fairly certain.’ My wolf replies with flippant indifference, but I can feel his scrutiny over me.

I could care less. I might not have outright explained my colourful past, but out of everything that happened, my grief is not something I’m ashamed of. And it’s not only Shartan I grieve. It’s fitting, in a way, his life summarized in this broken down building and in those words of unfulfilled dreams. Bitter, but fitting.

I offer my silent words of apology, and appeal to the Creators to be kind to my former companion.

Our cavalcade returns in a much more sombre mood to the campsite, and I disengage myself from the company, unable to give other’s proper attention. On the edge of my consciousness I note that Varric initiates an evening of fairy tales, no doubt seeking to lighten the atmosphere. I summarily ignore the talks over the fire, where the dwarf regals the listeners with a story of first Paragon.

The disaster of Dales is, at least partially, my fault. Shartan never married, left no undisputable successor, and the fight that ensued after his century of rule was bloody and exhausting. For the relatively freshly established country, the strain must have been enormous.

I could have stayed by his side. Could have ruled with him, and then, after him. I do not know if I could have prevented the disaster of the Exalted Massacre, whether I could have outmaneuvered the politically diverse humans, and stop them from dissecting my Dales. Our Dales. Shartan’s dream.

But I did not even try, I have run away from Shartan, from responsibilities and attachment. I tried to rebuild Tevinter, restore it from the shadow it became - and what an exercise in futility that was! Without position, without money, with scraps of former Wing’s contacts, I could only watch it fall, down and down under.

And then, after Maferath’s death, after my failures became too apparent to ignore anymore, what had I done? Instead of admitting defeat, and helping Shartan in carving out the future for the elves - and he needed help so very badly - I flickered out of existence. It was so easy to pretend none of this was happening, to forget and let the centuries pass me by, when I dreamed of home.

I wonder where Shartan is, in all this. I wonder what happens with the Elvhen who had not fallen into Uthenara, Falon’Din’s realm. Are they lost, forever and without anything of them remaining on Thedas? What of the sleepers whose physical bodies were lost to them during the war? And now, that there is no Uthenara and elves became mortal, did the rules change from what was before?

There are no definite answers. There never were. Even the Evanuris, for all their might and power, did not know.

‘Hey, Flash? Flash!’ Varric waves his hand in front of my eyes. Without my realizing it, the storyteller had changed, and Dorian was the one finishing just now.

‘Sparkler over there has been raving about the wonders of the Tevinter. You could offer a different perspective.’

I pretend to think about it seriously.

‘I could.’ I agree with him. ‘Doesn’t mean I will.’

The Empire I love is centuries-long gone, and I am not about to delve into the explanation.

The dwarf sighs, shaking his head and no doubt thinking not-so-flattering things about uncooperative elves. I know he turned me into one of his little projects - how to socialize Flash. His instinct must have warned him against trying it with Fen; but I am apparently a fair game.

‘I’ll have you know I was not **raving**. I do not rave. I regale, delight and divert. I’ve been told I am a joy to be around.’ Young Altus sniffs derisively, but there’s a clear laughter in his voice.

‘Obviously, the Empire has much room for improvement. If only Felix were still alive…’

Before Dorian can exalt us with another litany of his beloved’s virtues, I snarl,

‘He would have achieved just as much as he did before - namely nothing.’

Fire sparks in the youngster’s eyes, as he growls back angrily.

‘Who are you, and what the fuck do you know of him, to speak in such manner?!’

I clench my hands into fists, and taking a deep breath, begin reciting from memory all of the data Wings have gathered on Magister Alexius and his son. Interests, desires, weaknesses, connections… Halfway through Varric interrupts me, waving his hand,

‘Enough, enough of this, Flash. I think Sparkler gets it.’

There’s a question mark written on the mage’s face, and I sigh before explaining.

‘I, the Wings, were tasked with finding you, Dorian. Obviously, we had to learn as much as we could about people who assisted you during your escape.

I understand your good opinion of Felix, but you have to understand, from the grander perspective, your feelings on the issue matter little. And Felix, himself, mattered little.’ There’s a rumble of half-hearted protest from the mage, but he doesn’t interrupt, listening intently to my words.

‘Why? Because he was dying. It might seem brutal or unfair to you, but in Minrathous, it is what defined him. In Magisterium it is all about the deals you can make, alliances you can form. Had he ever been allowed to take his father’s seat – which he wouldn't, I assure you, Archon would never allow it. But had he been, he would have been completely isolated there, on the floor, with no support, and no perspectives of ever gaining it.’

I take another deep breath, and a fleeting thought enters my mind that I wouldn’t be quite so outspoken, had it not been for my own regrets and grief. It is so very easy to overshadow it with anger, for any reason, really - and Dorian provided me with a perfect, quite reasonable, scapegoat.

‘And the most ridiculous thing is I really shouldn’t have to explain it all to you! As a fucking Altus, you were bred, born, and taught to understand, live in that reality; yet, somehow, you managed to exist with your eyes closed all those years!

Or maybe you just decided to avert them, pretend it is otherwise.’

If a note of self-depreciation enters the words, I doubt any one of them but my wolf realize. Substitute Altus for Pride, and I very well could be speaking to myself, berate myself for blindness and arrogance and the resulting of it loss.

He doesn’t deserve quite this much censure, he is but a child, only just beginning to outgrow his youth. There’s still time for him to learn, and mindful of that, I lower my head in apology.

‘Forgive me, I hadn’t meant to come across this sharply. This place… ’

‘No offence taken.’ The mage replies quietly, and I can see I’ve given him a lot of food for thought.

Good. We need him thinking, more.

As we ready ourselves to sleep, I feel a delicate tendril of power, brushing over my tightly controlled aura in question.

I am not surprised by Fen’s initiative, in his position I would have wanted to speak as well. With a mental sigh, I lower my barrier for a second in acceptance, lowering myself on the bedding.

As I fall asleep, I can feel new doubts creeping out on me. Have I spoken too much, when I let my tongue run away from me? I know from Dagna’s latest report that I’ve managed to appease at least some of the doubts about me, but it doesn’t mean Leliana is not suspicious. Revealing the depth of my knowledge about the Tevinter political arena is bound to make her interested in me again.

Could I remain in the Inquisition, were my identity to be exposed? I know that I’ve decided to keep Wings away from these issues, but what if it is no longer an option?

Troubled by these thoughts, I fall asleep, swept into the Fade world by an irresistible power.

Fen chose a different setting for our talk, this time, and I find myself perched on peak of the mountain, breathless from the view spreading below. Forest and plains and ribbons of rivers weaved into tapestry of land below. Flash of white is etched on the sky in the distance, glittering in the sun mirage of Arlathan, and I bat my eyes to chase away the sudden tears.

A memory of one of the first places Fen had showed me after my recovery. This mountain used to be the highest on Thedas, before it was levelled during the clash between Elgar’Nan and Andruil. It was one of the last, direct confrontations between Evanuris, one which reshaped The Hundred Pillars forever.

This time, unexpectedly he appears in his Elvhen form, gauging my reaction to this. I flinch, involuntarily, startled and inexplicably nervous. Hurt flashes across his features, and he shimmers, before turning wolf on me. I feel inordinately more at ease - I know how to treat wolf. The elf still leaves me confused and uncertain.

 _‘I would not mind your other form. It was simply… unexpected.’_ I attempt to explain myself, and reassure him. Fen sees right through it.

 _‘Do not lie to me, Pride. Lying doesn’t become you.’_ He scolds me, with a distinct edge of bitterness.

I bury my head in silky fur in silent apology. It is not his fault that Fade makes me uncomfortable, and that I am doubly wary of him when I do not know what to expect. I feel, rather than hear, deep sigh, and tension leaves his taut muscles under my hand.

_‘It’s fine, Fean’Na. I’ll wait until you are ready.’_

No it’s not. I am screwing us up, again, and he waited so long, for me. I waited for him. Why can’t things be… easier? The familiarity of his aura makes me relax, why does his physical self cause me so much distress? Is it really that hard to expose myself, to wholly surrender my independence and self into arms of another?

I guess I’ve never done this, before. I’ve never had the chance, opportunity, to be completely vulnerable with my loved one. I can only be thankful for my wolf’s patience with me.

A wave of tenderness mingles with gratitude, and I adjust my body to fit closer to the wolf laying on the ground.

 _‘Tell me more of what happened in the years we had been apart.’_ Fen prompts me, and I do not wish to reject him, once more. So I answer, slowly, step by step, beginning with the last years I spent in Arlathan. Twilight of Gods, the war, was looming over, influencing every aspect of my life. My voice is muffled and weak, as I speak mostly into his fur barely discernible words of distress and helplessness. Of June, lost to his darkness and insanity, unpredictable, terrifying and still ferociously, boundlessly in love with me. Of Sylaise, felled by her grief, incapable of putting it aside for the good of the Elvhen. Of shadows of glory, the white marble turned gray from smoke, greenery burned down, or withered by the lack of care. Of my sanity wearing down until I had no choice but to run to the safety of my other reality.

The silence after my words lasts but a moment, before he begins telling me his side of the story.

He speaks about uncertainty, fear and confusion after Mythal’s disappearance, destruction of her physical vessel. Days of accusations and growing hostility, both Evanuris and Elvhen lost without her leadership. She was always the highest authority in resolving conflicts, and with her gone, the fragility of their ties was fully exposed.

_‘The war was a natural consequence, and I made myself scarce once I realized it’s inevitability. Even without the excuse of them blaming each other for Mythal’s fate, they would have risen against one another without her steadying influence.’_

I nod thoughtfully, in complete agreement. The potential for conflict was always there, barely beneath the surface.

Fen continues on, describing creation of the refuge sites, carefully erected wards, people spirited away from the danger. He speaks about successes… and about failures, of which there were many more. Underlying it, not fully expressed yet easily read between lines, are his desire to leave it all behind as pressure and responsibility begun exhausting him; combatted by his sense of obligation. His duty to his people.

And once I lose myself in his voice, I begin hearing one more thing - his desperate loneliness, tinging the sorrows of loss and joys of victory with constant melancholy. It brings tears to my eyes, and I draw even closer, to the point of hurting, loosening my aura and intertwining it with his; again berating myself for my inability to simply accept him fully. He deserves my complete devotion, he deserves the world, faithfulness and love and everything there is to give. There’s no other, there never was no other for me but him.

 _‘I am sorry, my Wolf. I’m sorry I couldn’t come with you. I dearly wish I could.’_ I finally say the words, centuries late, and he shifts his large, wolfish head and simply looks at me. There’s no reproof in his eyes, no judgement, just sadness and acceptance of the unfortunate circumstances which put us where we were.

He picks up in the years after my disappearance, glossing over the details of the ritual set up to cage the Evanuris in the beyond. The edge of frustration reflects what must have been years over years of hard work and calculation that comprised perfecting it. He briefly mentions the raid on the June’s stronghold, where June had me enshrined, once again, after I fell asleep.

 _‘The hardest thing to face was the uncertainty. I had no way of knowing how ripping the Fade away would affect Thedas, aside from certainty it would be profound. I was agonizing over it to the point of insanity, even long after the decision to follow through with it was made. In a way, the exhaustion after the ritual and inevitability of the prolonged regenerative sleep was a relief. I was tired of existence’_ without you is an unspoken undertone, which I can hear as clearly as if he had said it, _‘and wished to rest.’_

I find myself at a loss of words to express my sorrow. I understand his pain, and I had shared his desperation. I faced similar darkness, and missed him just as much.

In the end, I keep quiet, allowing my aura to mingle with his in our shared closeness, and we look in silence at the memory of the world long gone below us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sincerely apologize for the long delay. The story is by no means abandoned, even though I cannot promise regular chapters. Life has been busy as of late, and the lack of inspiration to write was hard to overcome. Especially ever since I got engaged, I became distracted, and unable to focus my attention on the story, give it my proper due.
> 
> I thank you for the continued support, my friends, you have encouraged me to return to it and continue. Reading your comments has encouraged me to try and pick it all up again, after I lost my hope of ever finding my groove back again. I hope this kind of long break never repeats itself, and we will continue with the story up until it's conclusion.


	45. Hunting Pride

**Hunting Pride**

The awakening after deep Fade dreaming is harder, and I usually end up a bit groggy instead of my usual alert self for the first few hours. The reality is a bleak thing to wake up to, missing shimmers and green tinges of the dream Fen had weaved for both of us. I might not find myself completely comfortable in the Fade, feeling way too transparent, but it does not mean I do not like visiting there.

Setting up traps for the giants takes the better part of the day. Had it been a solitary creature we were dealing with, a direct assault would have worked. But we are to face a whole family of four, and the danger is easily comparable to facing an enraged dragon. We’ve already scouted the area and chosen a suitable terrain for the skirmish the day before - and now, our trap experts, Varric, Sera and Scout Harding are overseeing the efforts while the rest of us play menial roles. 

I have strongly suspected it from when I’ve met Sera in the tavern, but I just didn’t appreciate the degree to which she and Fen just don’t… work.

Sera is more vehement - and vocal - in her dislike. Wearing her heart on her sleeve, she is anything but insincere. She does everything on instinct, without ever attempting to justify or understand her own actions - and her instincts scream that Fen looks down on her.

And he does, and it’s understandable why. 

It is only natural her presence would grate him. So brash, vulgar and attention seeking; all the while pretending it is not so… She is the embodiment of race’s downfall, brought so low she rejects everything that’s Elvhen. The faith, customs, language, former greatness… She would rather pretend to be human, no matter how needy that makes her seem, than accept her heritage. There are days when it almost hurts me to watch her being pitiful and pathetic, and it must be so much worse for him!

Throughout our work, and their prolonged exposure, the atmosphere grows tense till it’s nigh unbearable. It is hard to say which one started it, but nonetheless, Fen gains upper hand almost immediately. He taunts her, baits and criticizes, playing with words and turning them against her with mastery and experience which would make  **me** hard pressed to keep up, not to mention an uneducated street urchin. And she replies like one, without understanding the intricacies of his game, or maybe understanding just enough to get that an even field is beyond her. So she resorts to curses and insults or inane answers without much sense whatsoever, more often than not telling my wolf to just shut up - and whenever she does, I cringe at the audacity.

Finally their constant bickering wearies my patience down, and I plead with the wolf, uncaring of how speaking in Elvhen is impolite in broader company. 

_ ‘Fen, there’s no point in correcting people of her ilk.’ _

A few people look my way, disturbed by my sudden words, which they can’t understand; before shrugging and returning back to their work.

_ ‘It’s never too late to learn, and she is still young.’  _

_ ‘You do not have what it takes to make her listen. Do have mercy on me.’  _ I sigh heavily, and he glances at me with reflectively, before tilting his head in agreement. From the speculative gleam in his eyes, I know the topic is by no means finished. I consider how to breach the issue, reminding myself to remain impartial, even though the elven female did little to endear herself to me. Still, allowing it to affect my opinion will 

Sure enough, during the midday supper-break he ambushes me on the way back from the privy. 

_ ‘Those like Sera do not change simply because you point out the errors and illogicalities of their behaviour. They have spent their entire lives justifying their existence; our words only feed their insecurity, instead of guiding them towards improvement.’ _ I state quietly, recalling others like her I’ve encountered. My resounding success, Valeria - and my just as lamentable failure, Shartan. 

_ ‘You sound like speaking from experience.’  _ Fen says with sleek softness.  _ ‘Shartan, I presume?’ _

I whip around, taken aback by his shockingly accurate conjecture. Or maybe not conjecture? It’s only now that I take note of the strange, silky undertone in his voice. Too smooth. Under my sharp gaze, he runs away with his eyes, admitting,

_ ‘My people have found his journals.’ _

Myriad of emotions runs through my head. Shock, sadness, relief… Also light ray of hope, that maybe finally, I’ll find some closure. Without second thought, I say from the bottom of my heart,

_ ‘I want to see them.’ _

_ ‘That would be… difficult to accomplish.’  _ Fen deliberately phrases the words. I see right through the facade of his forced indifference; there’s tension lurking in his frigid posture.  _ ‘Seeing as I burned them.’ _

_ ‘You did what?!’  _ My astonished disbelief has no bounds. Fen just looks back at me dispassionately, and soon, shock turns to wrath.

_ ‘Why?’  _ I demand to know, and my wolf visibly bristles, replying coldly,

_ ‘I felt like it.’ _

My eyes flash fiercely, as I turn around, stating furiously,

_ ‘You had no right to take that away from me.’ _

I feel his burning gaze on my back, as I stomp away from him, frustrated and angered beyond reason. How could he? Regardless of how he disliked the thought of the two of us together, he shouldn’t have done it.

Once my feelings simmer down from the boiling level, I begin seeing things more clearly. I can finally understand the tone of the last letter I have received from him - Fen was not angry with me; he was jealous. Or maybe he was a bit angry, too… Also, his behaviour in recent days also gains a whole new layer. He was testing me, checking the extent of my feelings for Shartan.

I feel somewhat indignant and doubtful once I reach this conclusion. My proud, confident wolf, ready to take on the world and never second-guessing himself… It is hard to imagine him insecure, especially towards someone long gone. Yet I see no other explanation, and that deflates some of my anger towards him. Some.

I sigh dejectedly. This is one hell of a mess of jumbled emotions, unresolved and hurt feelings, and I just don’t know how to approach it; especially since I am far from calm and reasonable about it all.

It is clear from the looks sent our way that our argument was in no way circumspect; or maybe they simply feel sparkles in the air. I can’t keep myself from glaring reprovingly at my wolf, and Fen keeps his shoulders stiff and head held up high in defiance. Clearly he doesn’t feel any need to explain himself, or apologise for his actions.

Varric and Ellana tactfully keep their thoughts to themselves, merely rearranging the work in such way to reduce our contact with each other - and I feel another pang of conscience at another proof of Inquisitor’s kindness. I really should rethink my attitude towards her. I store it away in my mind for further contemplation at a later time. Currently, I do not believe myself capable of considering it properly. 

Sera, on the other hand, cannot hide her glee at the estrangement between us. Her blatant satisfaction sours my mood even further, and from the corner of my eye I can see Fen glowering with a dangerous gleam in his eyes. Ellana also catches onto it, and instantly mentions that she needs to visit local Dalish Clan again, discuss one thing or another. In spite of the obviousness of this ploy, Fen consents to escorting her there, and with one last look my way, departs.

His absence allows me to clear my mind, without constant pressure muddling my thoughts. I return to my task with renewed enthusiasm, scaling up the steep canyon, and securing steel nets in place. Above, people are loosening the stones, so that they would fall and cut off the giants, which would be then brought down by rain of arrows from above. 

Unfair but safe tactic.

Once I feel the whole thing is stable enough, I jump down to evaluate how it looks from down below. Satisfied with my work, I look at the sun, judging the time to be late afternoon. I am about to go and report my progress to Scout Harding, when Sera lands by my side gracefully, and  standing up, brushes dust of her breeches, sending me a smirk.

It makes me wary, and I cross my arms, preparing myself for whatever ploy Sera has in mind. It is not quite fair of me, but I feel a wave of irritation at the mere possibility of her stepping out of the line. Then again, I am pretty certain I am not wrong.

‘So… You and Baldy are not so chummy anymore, are you?’ She prods tactlessly.

I regard her silently, not deigning to respond with the obvious. Sera seems a little disappointed by my lack of reaction, but quickly gets over it, and plunges onward.

‘See, me an’ guys, we’ve been wonderin’ for a while. This Fade thing he keeps talking about, see, is there any  **practical** advantage to that?’

I feel my eyebrows rising involuntarily at the strange emphasis she puts on the words, and reply a cautiously.

‘There are plenty, of course.’

Sera waves my words away.

‘Nah, I do not care for the creepy sparkly stuff.’ I smile briefly at the allusion to Dorian - and isn’t it curious that Sera instinctively associates all things magic with him - but do not understand her meaning any better. Sera sighs with apparent frustration and clarifies, licking her lips lewdly. ‘Is there any  **fun** to be had there?’

My eyes widen from shock and outrage.

‘That’s a completely inappropriate question!’ I manage to keep my voice low in spite of feeling scandalized.  My ears start burning, heat seeping into my cheeks, as I desperately try to regain some semblance of control. Really, of the things to suggest! 

‘Oh come on, don’t be such a stick in the mud. He must have told you  **something** …’ She whines at me, disregarding my flustered state and plain disgust at her line of questioning written on my face. It’s so like her, to be completely inconsiderate, nearly vulgar and completely offensive. I was under the impression Sera outgrew her childhood, but there are days when I have serious doubts. This is one of those days.

‘I’ll have you know that back in the day, when he cared to, Fen had plenty of admirers, and no need to indulge in fantasies!’ My outrage finally defeats my mortification, and I defend my wolf vehemently. Yet even as I speak those words, I feel doubt creeping in. True, Fen had plenty to pick from… But did he actually want any of them? I cut off this train of thought sharply; I do not want Sera catching onto my sudden hesitation.

‘No need to scream! You’re just being a sourpuss because you’re not getting any.’ She pouts. It could be considered rather cute, had I not been thoroughly incensed with her.

‘No, Sera. I’m pretty sure that’s just you.’ I reply dryly, shaking my head in disbelief.

I walk away briskly, disregarding her; she does not deserve my further notice. I know she will find a way to get back at me, Sera dislikes being dismissed, by anyone. I could care less for her petty pranks, and I’m actually kind of looking forward to that. Or, to be more precise, I am looking forward to turning her trick against her. 

Considering my role tomorrow, I am let go early. I need to be at my best; and I guess my altercation with Sera did not go unnoticed. I do not particularly care for the actual reason. I’m simply glad there would be no further opportunities for the damned archer to needle me.

I’m actually pretty tired, and lay down in the group tent scouts share with firm resolve to use the opportunity to its full extent. Unfortunately, the sleep doesn’t come - I guess I am too rattled by the day, incapable of simply letting go of it.

In the first place, I am quite indignant that Sera believed she could get out of me something incriminating regarding Fen simply because of our argument. Do I really appear so flighty in the eyes of others? True, no one has seen us interacting with each other much - the said argument notwithstanding - but I was quite certain our closeness was apparent in spite of it.

And what a thing to be curious of! I try to imagine what brought that about, and decide that maybe, Sera was trying to bring down the wolf to her level. Prove before herself that they aren’t quite so far apart. Maybe? I do not know her well enough to have any confidence reading her motives… And after today, I do not feel like changing that anytime soon. Certain lines were crossed.

Even an hour after the event, I flush, remembering her suggestion. One would think that after years with Riv, and later also Isabela, I would have grown used to crudity. And yet, still, such blatant disrespect and vulgarity aimed at my wolf leave me at a loss of words. Offended on his behalf, and insulted that Sera thought I would betray his confidence regarding something so very private.

It brings to the forefront of my mind another thing, and my blush darkens, as I wonder whether there is any truth to Sera’s allegations. What I said to her was - is - doubtlessly true; but I also know that  **I** have certainly dreamed of him during those years apart. Why wouldn’t he? In spite of Inquisition’s perception, Fen is not, in fact, a block of ice. There are very real desires, hidden beneath layers of steely control. I know, I’ve seen and felt that passion directed at me once. Before he squashed it down; although not completely, it seems.

Even speculating over his dreamscape adventures feels like betrayal of sort, and I decisively redirect my thoughts away from it. It is none of my business, whatever Fen had, or had not, dreamed of. I am the last person allowed to judge; considering I’ve replaced June with him in my mind whenever I was forced to endure June’s affections.

Of course, all this thinking of Fen reminds me of our recent argument. I shift uneasily on the bed, revisiting the unpleasantness of it.

There’s no doubt in my mind that this time, Fen has overstepped the boundaries. Just the same, I feel I might have overreacted to it. Fen is not perfect; even though I have come to expect nothing but perfection from him. His action has minor to no bearing on the large scheme of things, and although I would have liked to receive my closure, it is not all that important. Certainly not worth remaining at odds with my heart. It’s just this place, being literally steps away from Shartan’s burial site, weighing heavily on my mind. 

I know, apologising and making up will be up to me. 

I inhale uneasily, my throat clenching at the thought of having to swallow my pride, and bow my head before him. But then, don’t I owe it to him? At least this much?

On that determined note, I finally let the Fade swallow me.  

Come morning, I wake up still feeling an edge of frustration. I immediately decide to put off resolving the situation with Fen - there’s no way I will manage it with pent up emotions threatening to blow up in my face. Fortunately, the planned hunt promises to burn out at least some of them.

The beginning of it is not a very sophisticated game of lure, leading our marks to the chosen area. Not very sophisticated, but no less dangerous - while the creatures, in spite of their humanoid form, in terms of intellect are below most animals, their sheer size and surprising agility remain quite dangerous for most people. Fortunately, for all of their gigantic posture, the creatures are quite dumb and easily baited. 

I asked to play point, knowing that out of all of the gathered here, with the sole exception of Fen, I have the highest chance of surviving should things go south. And at the beginning, everything seems fine - I throw my knife to get giants’ attention, and the herd follows me like puppies on a leash. Growling, lunging and deadly, but they are more bark than bite for someone of my speed. I dance just on the edge of their range, baiting and hassling and irritating, dodging strikes long before they have any chance of reaching me.

There’s little they could possibly do to me, unless I make some grievous mistake, but still, they are large. Aggressive. And want to kill me. The awareness of the game, the thrill of the adrenaline are exhilarating. This, this is exactly what I needed - and once I finally climb up to the safety at the end of the canyon, I throw a wide smile to Fen, completely forgetting I am supposed to be irritated at him.

He smiles back, just the slightest tilt of his lips, but the brightening of his eyes is telling. I decide on the spot to apologise the moment we are alone, because really, I could never stay mad at him when he is so genuinely pleased with my happiness.

For now, I focus my attention on the caught giants, cut off from both sides of the canyon by the barricades of rocks which we have prepared beforehand. The archers are already hard at work, sending arrow after arrow into their targets.

Generally, there’s no easy way to bring down a giant. They are fairly magic resistant, which is why the mages are not taking part in the assault, saving up their mana in case of emergency. Their skin is quite thick and resistant to blows, so neither arrows, nor swords, have much effect. The archers can hope for a lucky shot in the eye, which is a small target, but the rest of the head is strongly boned, and nearly completely resists damage.

The other tactic available is to exhaust and slowly bleed out the creature. Arrows might not do a lot of damage, but they break the skin; and when there are many of them rained at the helpless creatures, it does not take too long for them to be brought down. A death of thousand blows; quite cruel when you think about it, but with guaranteed result.

The first two giants are soon lying on the ground, too weak to stand up anymore, but still breathing. I feel a wave of pity looking at them from up above, and can’t help hoping this whole thing ends fast, and we can end their misery. 

And then, Sera’s lucky - accurate -  hit kills the third giant, and the trouble begins. In his dying convulsions, the creature had disturbed the wall of the canyon, and creating a small avalanche, destroyed the ledge most of our archers were using.

The fall down is not too great, and aside from a few broken bones nothing serious happens to them - so far. Because there’s one more, quite healthy, giant left. The moment he realizes their presence, they are in big trouble; there’s no way they could escape in time with their recent injuries.

While there’s a lot of screaming and slight panic going on around me, I evaluate the situation. We have planned for many eventualities - but not quite for the one where our people  **can’t** use the escape route upwards we have prepared.

There’s only one solution. I have to get his attention before the giant notices the archers of the ground. Of course, considering the limited space of the canyon, dodging the blows will be much trickier… 

Pursing lips decisively, I grab a hold of the rope I’ve used before to get myself out of trouble, and glancing distractedly at my wolf, ask,

‘Fen, you coming?’

He shakes himself out of his own calculations, and comes up to me, murmuring below Shem’s hearing range,

‘You have a plan, I assume.’

By which he means a plan not betraying my magic, or his unusual capabilities. I smirk slightly, muttering back,

‘Guess you will find out.’

Fen snorts at that helplessly, and grabs the other rope. He knows better than to argue with me, especially since things down below grow more dire by the second. Ellana looks at us without understanding, saying with sharp edge of hysteria,

‘Could someone explain to me what this is all about?’

I ignore her, taking a devious satisfaction from her confused face as I slide down, Fen not far behind me. As we hit the solid ground, I explain my idea succinctly,

‘Stepping stones.’ 

Fen’s eyes flash in sudden recognition, and he nods his assent, like I knew he would.

Stepping stones was a game he devised for me; long before we included my magic into my arsenal. The rules were simple - I had to jump between the ice blocks he created for me from the air, spending less than two seconds on each one of them; they fell apart under my feet once the time passed. At first its purpose was to teach me balance; later we added a spell dodging practice to it, and it was a training for both of us - Fen was testing his concentration, casting multiple spells at once; I had to be creative in my approach in order to safely maneuver in the air.

I loved it. I felt like I was flying, and long after I had complete proficiency, I often asked him to play.

In current circumstances, stepping stones allow to create another level of maneuverability, providing me with a safety margin which would have been missing, were I to face the giant solely on the ground. Of course, similar safety net would have been me simply using my magic, but that never was an option.

And, no less important, I want to play. 

My pulse picks up, and I throw another knife at the giant's leg, scratching its surface and irritating the creature. Having his full attention, I break into run, sliding below his legs and jumping up at the white ledge created by my wolf.

One, land on the stone. Two, bend knees to gain momentum, glancing around to catch the sight of another. Three, jump again, and fly, fly in the air. Breathless and grinning madly, as the large fist swishes past, smashing into the spot I have just left. Again, and again, and faster, and less thinking and more moving, and getting closer to the goal. I do not have to think, I do not have time to fear. Just rush and belief, where to move, how to dodge, my path laid out for me by the one person I could trust with everything. Someday, I will.

It is so much fun. Fun fun fun. I feel my magic tingling in the back of my mind, begging to be used, but that wouldn’t be fair, now would it? Enough that I have Fen, supporting me with calm certainty and quick reaction. I wouldn’t want to outclass the poor creature too much; he stands no chance as it is. Already he is helplessly circling around himself, flaying randomly. Trying to catch an annoying fly in front of its face…

But this is no ordinary fly, this is a bee with a sting. A cut here, and a cut there; both to keep the attention away from the fallen people and Fen, and to weaken him. Once I am high enough, and giant’s energy is suitably drained, I make a risky jump right on top of its head. He attempts to swat me away, but ends up only hitting himself because I am long gone.

Dazed, he half-kneels, grunting out his pain. A moment we’ve been waiting for, Fen’s stones preemptively leading me directly above. With a flip, I land again on the flat forehead, safe in the knowledge that giant’s reaction time is disturbed. In one swift move I target the creatures eye, using the speed of the fall to strengthen my blow and reach the brain.

He roars painfully, but these are his last movements, and already, I am running down his arm and jumping down, rolling away from the devastation his carcass will cause.

Looking down on my kill I can’t help laughing, just a tiny bit. There were a few close calls, but more than anything I am satisfied, by the job well done and by the danger I have faced, and prevailed against. 

So maybe I am a thrill seeker. An adrenaline freak. But it helped me last all this time, finding things that kept me on my toes. Physical danger, mental danger, emotional danger; they drew me in. When I consider it, I realize that not once during my whole life have I chosen the safe option. Safe is boring. Safe makes me go nuts, and search for more interesting stuff to do. Balance on the edge of the railing, just millimeters away from tumbling down, and being proud of my skill which allows me to remain like that. Escape a breath away from a deadly wound, and laugh in the face of my opponent when I use his own momentum against him. Play politics with the most ruthless players on Thedas, who wouldn’t hesitate from turning me inside out if I go one step too far. This is what my existence has been about, ever since the Arlathan had fallen. 

I had to tone down my danger-seeking tendencies, for the sake of Wings, and Valeria; they reminded me that I needed to value my life more. But I have a sudden revelation, looking at the smile of Fen’s - now I do not have to, anymore. Now I could finally have a partner, capable of both keeping up with me… and catching me should I fall. I could have the best of both words; the danger and the safety. It makes me giddy, awash with happiness; because Fen would understand. The others do not, but he does.

We seek different things, but we, the two of us, always immerse ourselves fully. This is why being Wings leader, enclosed behind the desk, was so tiring. I would always prefer to face the danger directly, than sending in others to do the job. Fen would rather check every phenomena of the magic on his own, than delegate it to someone else. We might seek other things… But fundamentally, are the same.

And because of his smile, because he understands and is, was, glad for my happiness, I can no longer put off making up. Throwing caution to the wind, I step closer and burying my head in his chest, murmur softly,

_ ‘You are the best, you know, Fen?’  _

_ ‘Of course.’  _ I can hear laughter in the words as he replies smugly, putting one hand on my thigh and cradling me closer, while the other runs over my hair. I sigh, leaning into his hands, enjoying the comfort his playing with my hair brings.

_ ‘And I am sorry for being too harsh.’  _

And the words, surprisingly, don’t burn me as much as I expected them to, and the world doesn’t fall apart because I have swallowed my pride; even though he was the one in the wrong. Nor am I in any way diminished by it, and neither is my pride. I am still very much myself; and yet. It feels like a change.

_ ‘I know.’ _ He nods, and lays his chin on top of my head. I snuggle my nose into his neck, and dare again, breathing against his skin.

_ ‘And I am sorry that the situation with Shartan hurt you.’ _

His fingers still in my hair for a moment, before resuming their downward movement.

_ ‘You do not have to apologise for that. It was a long time ago, and you haven’t done anything wrong.’  _ Fen replies softly, but there’s a sudden vulnerability to his voice.

_ ‘Yet I feel I should.’ _

He doesn’t say anything more, but draws me even closer, and I know, we are one step closer to understanding one another. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously, the inspiration for this chapter should be clear to everyone - yes, it is that brilliant Blackwall-Solas dialogue which had me laughing and squelling with glee once I finally heard it in the game. It was just great, and I couldn’t help myself - I had to somehow reference it in my story. 
> 
> While I’ve been feeling quite inspired, lately, I still cannot promise any regularity. The break clearly did me some good- and now that I think about it, I have lived and breathed this story for 6 months non-stop. Clearly, I was experiencing some burn-out, and my lack of inspiration was a clear sign to pause for a while. I was so tired of it, my creativity was dimmed to the point where it was a struggle to string two words together coherently. Nonetheless, I am brimming with ideas and clear vision how I want my story to proceed - hopefully nothing will negatively affect my conviction.
> 
> In the meantime, I also took to revising the early chapters of the story - I can’t focus properly to write complete chapter during my working hours, but nothing stops me from minor corrections ^^. The changes introduced are going to be minor, hopefully improving flow of the story and expanding on some details, so you do not have to read it all over again from the beginning - I know it would be an effort. It’s become quite a time-consuming exercise… And to think I’m responsible for that mountain of text! There are days I can’t believe how far this story has progressed. 
> 
> And now I’ll maybe finally stop apologising to you guys for it and get back to writing. ^^


	46. Uneasy Pride

**Uneasy Pride**

It would have been nice if the world stopped around us, for a moment, allowing me to enjoy Fen’s arms around me, and a steady beat of his heart under my ears. Unfortunately, nothing is ever quite this easy in reality. There’s a giant body just behind us, and many hurt scouts requiring medical attention. There’s Ellana, disgruntled at being kept out of the loop while we have brought down the creature, and Varric, demanding an explanation with an astounded ‘What in Andraste’s name was that?!’.

Our short loss of contact with reality does not go unnoticed. There are glances, sent our way. Speculative, intrigued. Curious or irritated. Secretive… and not so much. Dorian wears a knowing smirk, sneaking uneasy peaks at Ellana. Sera is quite put out with our apparent truce, I simply keep piling up offences in her eyes. Ellana is no less unhappy, and I barely stop myself from squirming guiltily under her eyes. Here I promised Fen some time to solve the issue with her without pushing it, and yet I break my own resolution barely a few weeks later. 

I begin assisting with clearing the debris; we want to avoid forcing the wounded to climb back up to exit the valley. Fen, of course, takes care of first aid, setting broken bones and forcing sprained wrists and ankles back in place. The rest of people also find tasks to occupy themselves with, and by midday - and it is somehow unbelievable it is only midday, so much has happened - we travel east, towards mountains.

Of course, our tempo is snail-slow, with carts and supplies dragged along. I trot in the back guard, one of the few unharmed scouts. I am surprised Harding has not sent me ahead, but I have a sneaking suspicion I know what it is all about. She wants to repay me for saving the lives of most of her unit, without ever admitting to her gratitude. Slight smirk plays under my nose at the thought of her pride. 

Bored out of my mind, I begin playing with my throwing knives; balancing them on the tip of my finger, juggling and all other sort of tricks. The exercise is not completely mindless, forcing me to focus, keeping my awareness of the terrain and movement of my horse.  In spite of its distraction, some part of my mind remains watchful of the surroundings, never resting, trying to gauge possible dangers. That is how I survived all those years; and the few times when I let my guard down, I have paid for dearly. Which is why I am not surprised when Varric prompts his pony to slow down, and joins me. 

The dwarf takes his time before finally breaking the silence, weighing his words carefully.

‘You know, Flash, I have never seen anything quite like it… And that’s saying somethin’ considering my wealth of experience. I have met all kinds of people, adventuring with Hawke. All sorts of fighters… Yet none quite like you. You appear to be dancing… And today you have danced in the air. Yet it still feels like there’s something missing, some of your moves not quite as clean as they should be; unusual for such experienced person as yourself. ’

He really is very observant, noticing the hidden rhythm of my moves. Most don’t, focusing on the superficial and flashy details. Even more unusual, he picked up on the fact I am used to amplifying my natural speed with magic; even if he could not exactly place it. I am somewhat astounded. 

Still, since I do not intend to address his queries, I shrug away his comment neutrally, replying,

‘One can easily see why you are the erudite among us. I would have never thought to describe my fighting techniques in such way; I bow my head before your illuminating narration.’ If there’s just the barest hint of sarcasm in the words, I keep it to myself. Varric nods semi-seriously, making an elaborate gesture with flair and a note of self-mockery.

‘All hail the great scribe.’

I laugh at the derisive words, appreciating the fact he doesn’t take himself too seriously. A rare quality in the Inquisition, that’s for certain. And precious. I am aware that I take myself way too seriously for my mental health.

Which, considering I have been spirited away from my home some centuries ago, is actually in stellar condition. For someone who never had much in terms of sanity to begin with. 

After this brief reprieve, Varric carries on the conversation. 

‘Flash, when I think about it, you are not the usual type to go mercenary.’

On the surface, it is a slight shift of topic. But it’s only on first impression, and when I consider the way where all those questions are leading, I soon realize he is fishing for information. Some key phrase or slip which could help him connect me, and Fen, I guess, to some definite past. Some explanation which would make sense of us both.

I should have known our little display would make him interested in us again. Obviously, he has long learned that interrogating Fen leads to nowhere, and so, settled on an easier mark.

Even though I do not think he has anything sinister in mind, nor do I believe he would use the knowledge he had gained against us, I do not intend to risk it. And there’s no better way to turn around a question than to question its validity. 

‘Oh? What would you expect of me, then?’ 

I must admit, in spite of myself, and of the fact I would much rather Varric stopped investigating, I am quite curious of his speculations. There’s much to say about impressions, and I’ve always been a bit interested in what others think of me, especially not among my own. While I’ve never particularly  **cared** about it, and how my behaviour shaped these opinions, it is useful to know. It helps predicting their movements.

The dwarf frowns thoughtfully, before replying slowly, 

‘There are days when I feel positively plebeian, in contrast to your conduct and mannerism. Surprisingly, both you and Solas excel at making others feel… Insignificant. A peculiar thing, even Dorian, born to priviledge, never got it down.’ He shakes his head in wonder, while my heart stills. This is far too close to the mark for my comfort.

‘I can easily see you clad in silks, twirling on the dancefloor among the awed crowd, with a regal poise and impervious smile, commanding people around you.’ Oblivious to my distress, he continues on, as I become more and more shaken by the accuracy of the picture he paints. It takes the entirety of my experience to keep my face still, as I ponder on my answer. 

I know that I cannot let this go unchallenged. But then, neither can I protest his assessment too vigorously. That would be far more suspicious. Forcing a wry smile on my lips to hide the turmoil inside, I settle for casual sarcasm and levity. When all else fails, make a joke out of the situation. Or yourself.  

‘You don’t say? Personally, I can’t imagine myself in a ball gown; it is quite a shot in the dark.’ It is a struggle to maintain the light, slightly sardonic intonation in my voice and a still, unaffected visage, more so than I’ve expected. Rarely ever has anyone called me out on the inconsistencies between my behaviour and background; I have grown complacent. 

‘Too much?’ The dwarf smiles disarmingly, and I want to sigh with relief at the humorous undertone in his voice. He really was guessing, and it seems I have managed to avert his suspicions. Temporarily, at least. Hopefully, by the time they are aroused again, I won’t have anything keeping me in the Inquisition anymore. ‘ I did not mean to offend. Do you ever get the feeling that perhaps you are in the wrong fairy tale, Flash?’

‘Do you ever not get that feeling, Varric?’ I reply only half-jokingly, provoking a laugh out of him. And if there’s a bitter tang on the back of my tongue, as I taste these words, well, no one but me would know about it. And Fen; fortunately he is too far to make out our words, even for his supernatural hearing.

Varric couldn’t have phrased it more accurately had he tried deliberately.

Wrong fairy tale, indeed. 

This talk with Varric forces me into self-reflection for the entirety of our journey back home. There are aspects of my personality and behaviour I haven’t considered - or, to be precise, I haven’t considered how atypical they are, in comparison with others of my race. I haven’t realized I’ve been quite this striking of a presence - even though my Wings have joked about it often enough. And I took it in that vein, carelessly not looking under the surface; but I should have. There’s always a grain of truth in such statements, and it is to my detriment I have failed to perceive it until now.

Especially when I am together with Fen, our customs distinguish us very clearly. Separately, maybe, it could have, would have, been less obvious. 

Even if you can force someone out of court, you can’t erase the court out of him. Some things remain ingrained in the subconsciousness, become more natural than breathing.

Unfortunately, should I change my behaviour right now, it would be even more suspicious. Hesitantly, I decide that there’s no choice for me but to go on. In the worst case, I will use some of the leverages the Wings have to shift the interest elsewhere. In fact, I have just the thing I could use to distract Leliana - and I doubt Varric will share his conjectures with anyone, which will work in my favour.  

When we reach Skyhold, I find out we have a newcomer in the fortress. The witch Morrigan, the very same who used to be Celene’s advisor. The empress must have liked her quite a lot, and trusted her with more than people were comfortable with - which makes me both on guard, and interested in getting the information out of her. She must have had access to some rather sensitive stuff; and one just can’t know too much. Especially with the latest assassination attempt on Briala’s life, and the consistently more stifling changes in the law regarding elves, I consider Orlais to be a hostile country. Whether they know it, or not.

They’re getting bolder in their reforms, bolder in their movements. Celene and Gaspard must have reached an understanding; particularly important from their point of view since the Inquisitor is an elf herself. The fact that she really is an naive girl, and helping Briala and upsetting the balance of power in Orlais has never crossed her mind is not something they really consider. Both perceive the world through the skewed lenses of their own respective characters; that’s what they would have done in Ellana’s position, and so, in their eyes, that’s what she is doing.

It really puts Briala in precarious position. It has been less than two months from the establishment of the triumvirate, and she is forced to some really desperate maneuvers to retain the scraps of power she has. Not that she had a lot in the first place - an elf among prejudiced humans. I’m glad I have left her the carte blanche access to Wings assistance, because Creators help her, she will need it.

I push away the reports delivered to Skyhold by the couriers, biting down on my lip. They should not have sent them directly, but I have been absent for so long, Bethany had no choice. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and make a firm decision to find time as soon as possible, and visit Val Royeaux. I can’t forget my responsibilities, or true loyalties. Yes, I owe it to Fen to be here, but just as much, I owe it to my Wings to lead them.

Inquisition's newest acquisition, Morrigan, is, simply put, a strange person. Walking contradiction, full of inconsistencies and holes, both in personality and in history. A puzzle, really. And human puzzles, rare as they are, have always excited me.

She has a talent of being both respectful and insulting in the same word. She puts on disinterested and indifferent front, but the subtle body language tells me it’s the exact opposite; she can get surprisingly excitable about things. She could care less about other’s good opinion, but in certain instances she covets, reinforces a false image of herself presented before them, and is very satisfied whenever she manages to pull it off. Highly beyond the current times really, educated in some arcane matters, and woefully lacking knowledge in others. I can’t figure out what makes her tick, and her background is just as mysterious.

Her association with Celene is just as mystifying. The woman is clearly an apostate, and yet, the Empress had risked the ire of her Chantry benefactors by allowing her to remain in the palace. 

Had the two been lovers? Morrigan does not strike me as someone who would sell her body for favours, and yet. I just can’t figure out what was it so unique about the witch that Celene had enraged both her court, her backers, had literally given Gaspard ammunition to weaken her! No matter from which angle I look at it, I simply can’t dismiss that option. 

What’s more, there’s a strange familiarity to her, both her magic and her bearing. I try wrapping my head around just what precisely makes it so, but in the end, I have to settle for the fact it just is. Familiar. 

I even go as far as to ask Fen directly about it, but he just smiles enigmatically, replying,

_ ‘Your instinctive perceptiveness is as accurate as ever, Fean’Na. But you have nothing to fear from Morrigan - she couldn’t hurt you had she tried.’ _

He doesn’t say even a word more on the topic, and I leave him to his studies, a bit frustrated, but overall, in agreement with his assessment. Morrigan could pose no danger to me.

Her wild magic, shapeshifting, while certainly unique, grants her no advantage should she face against me. And the remainder of her arsenal is quite conventional - I have faced people much more powerful than her, and prevailed. Unless there’s something she is hiding very efficiently, beyond our recognition - which is highly unlikely; while I could have been deceived, I doubt there’s anything under the sun which could trick Fen - there’s nothing she can throw at me.

There are days when she resembles a magpie, her eyes drawn to shiny metals and glittering jewels. Those she owns, Morrigan shows off, sown into her strange, barbarian clothing. The clothes are so out of place I do not question, even once, her story of growing up in the wilds - no human community would tolerate such skimpy outfit; as humans progressed their civilization above stone age, they grew more and more prudish. I have been all across Thedas, and nowhere Morrigan’s attire would be considered as anything other than that of a whore, showing off her wealth - both that of her body, and of how she was valued. The gems dangle with soft jingling sound, attracting attention to her hips and her expansive cleavage.

Certainly, had she been in fact a whore, she would not have complained about the lack of attention. The males in the Inquisition are drinking in her every movement, I believe Fen to be the only one completely unaffected. But then, as much as I dislike thinking about, he had seen every trick in the book when females were trying to get his attention. And he was never impressed be these before; why would he change now? Even if, I am loath to admit, Morrigan is stunningly beautiful. 

Cullen is a funny sight whenever he encounters her. He tries to remain on guard, disdaining of her attitude and never quite at ease - but then his eyes are drawn to her sensual movement, or the throaty laugh when she disparages one senseless thing or another. I am fairly certain the witch attracts his attention on purpose, appreciating the irony of a straight-laced templar fighting against his vulgar, completely base fascination with a dangerous apostate.

But, while Morrigan catches his attention, she is unable to keep it; the moment Ellana enters the room, Cullen sees no one else. It is rather sweet, when I think about it in my more generous moments - he is not merely attracted to her looks, but also to her personality. Morrigan simply can’t compare, and he attempts to remain faithful to his feelings by not splitting his regard. Maybe he feels unfaithful to his heart, whenever he thinks of another woman?

Damned honourable knight. It is so adorable, I would have been tempted to help him along with the Dalish Da’len, had I not thought my involvement counterproductive. 

Blackwall and Iron Bull have no such inhibitions, and openly devour Morrigan with their eyes. Dorian becomes a bit jealous, even though he hides it rather well. Still, it makes him more susceptible to my criticism of the Ben-Hassrath, and I make full use of this opportunity to sow a few seeds of doubt.

When it comes to my own feelings about the witch, they are ambivalent. I value her independence and strength of will, but disdain her perceived superior knowledge in matters she has little to no idea about. I find it hilarious Morrigan considers herself an expert on the ancient elvhen magic, and I know Fen is in complete agreement with me.

We share a lot of opinions regarding Chantry, Inquisition, and general perception of the world around us. Had the circumstances been different, had I the luxury of being able to trust her, we could have been… friendly. We are somewhat similar, even if I choose to take an active stance, while Morrigan prefers either passivity or running away. I can sympathize, since I used to be the same - two centuries ago. My experiences had taught me there are things one can’t run from.

I find soon find out that there’s little of value Morrigan could share of her life in Celene’s court. She tries to keep it from me, but the young woman simply lacks the refinement and finesse to fool me. The stigma of her background kept her barred from anything I would be interested in; and thus, I abandon the task, and our tentative friendship. 

I do not have time to spare for fruitless endeavours.

Once I decide to stop pursuing the Morrigan angle, I inform Leliana of temporary leave, and depart for Val Royeaux. This whole Inquisition business is even more absorbing than I have expected, and from the carefully chosen words of Nervlis, and deliberately offensive from Valeria, I can read my Wings are stretched too thin. The Ben-Hassrath are using the opportunity provided by their semi-alliance with the Inquisition to spread threads of their influence across Thedas. Travelling under the guise of messengers, they remain unmolested. No one dares to mess with the Inquisition, now that the Herald had proven to be the sole, solid solution to the Rift problem.

The publicity Iron Bull has brought when he joined in such public and ostensive way is paying off heaps and bounds. The Wings are helpless against their strategy. My instructions to keep away from Inquisition’s business are chafing. Valeria, once again, recommends we come clean - at least partially - before the Inquisition, loosen the ties on our hands. Arissar, on the other hand, recommends the exact opposite; clean cut break and focusing on the trouble on our lands. 

Both arguments have their merits. Valeria has a point that closer ties with the Inquisition will solve at least some of our Ben-Hassrath related conflicts. We will be able to confirm who of the couriers come bearing actual news, and who are spying and being a problem. Of course, once we curb this venue, the Qunari will attempt to merge the positions. But this would severely limit their capabilities and movements, and we could implement more effective countermeasures. 

Arissar is completely right with his arguments that this arrangement would require us to divide our forces even further; with slave-market, active Ben-Hassrath, mage-templar tension within our ranks and many other minor or less minor troubles cropping up, we already have a lot on our plate. Clean break would lessen the pressure, reduce the amount of duties to more manageable size. Fighting a war on multiple fronts is downright stupid.

Ordinarily, I would be more inclined to follow Arissar’s advice. The Inquisition appears to have the Coryphaeus business if not quite in hand just yet, then well-in-progress of solving. Engaging in internal Chantry matters is against my inclinations in the best of situations, and current one wages between critical right down to desperate. 

However.

Fen’s involvement with the whole affair means there’s more to it than meets the eye. Moreover, Fen’s awakening changes things in a way I haven’t expected for a while yet; I need to contemplate what it means for me, and my future. There are new obligations, suddenly, older than mountains and closer to my heart even than the slave cause. Thinking on them makes my gut clench, but I have to begin considering them sometime soon.

For now, the choices I will have to make are far away in the future. I do not want to think too much about the far-reaching consequences Fen’s awakening will have; at least not now. 

Biting down on my lip, I order Nervlis to use our influence and shut down Kirkwall hub of transportation for Ben-Hassrath. It will take some manipulation, but denying their access to the port will add many days to their journey, making most of the information the spies gather obsolete. 

I am aware of it being only a stalling strategy, and pray that I can cut myself off the Inquisition by the time it will no longer work.

Bethany is not very happy with me, missing her overworked and overstressed lover a lot. Sighing guiltily, because I have not considered her situation at all in the recent days - Creators, I am so damn selfish, thinking only of my own problems - I suggest for Arissar to consider relocating to Orlais for a while. It is not very far removed from Kirkwall, which will need to be under his observation in the coming months.

When I decide on that, I also force myself to analyse rather unpleasant possibility, which I have successfully pushed to the back of my head until now. It is feasible - actually, it is quite likely, regardless of how I like to pretend otherwise - that my Quicksilver identity will be exposed. I am relatively certain Leliana had already noticed something’s off, and even though I am convinced she is missing some vital facts, it won’t take much for her to put two and two together. Fen has certainly figured it out awhile back, even if we do not really talk about this. Of course, he has an advantage of knowing me better than anyone.

I avoided thinking about this because of the sheer hassle of consequences. They are not quite as disastrous as they could be, but they will require careful maneuvering, and I am quite fed up with being polite to people I despise. If I had to choose one thing I adored about being Fea - she never had to take part in politics, involved only peripherally in them. Quicksilver, on the other hand, was neck deep in these murky waters.

With a sigh, I leave for Bethany instructions to draft a temporary alliance contract, and for Valeria to brace Minrathous for this occurrence. I pray to the Creators my preparations will prove needless, but I feel in the back of my head grim certainty of their necessity. 

My return to Skyhold is swift and eventless. The roads are clear of bandits, chased away by the war, or the strugglers, long departed from this hostile territory.

Having crossed the gates, I go directly to my rooms, sending a messenger to Leliana with some of the reports I have taken from Val Royeaux. 

My Wings have been, at their leisure, investigating the Venatori. Nervlis had an understandable interest in the topic, ever since his infamous capture. I hope it will prove enough of a temptation to shift Leliana’s attention away from me.

They were mostly pertaining to the Ventori leader, Calpernia. The woman used to be enslaved, before Tessarian’s old friend, Magister Erasthenes of house Troyan freed her. He saw a lot of potential hidden in the young mage, and shaped her to assist him in the work his Venatori were doing. The transition which made Calpernia the next Venatori leader is rather mysterious, and we found no definite answers. However, taking into account that Erasthenes has been missing for a few years, I rather suspect she killed him, thus inheriting the power. 

I am not surprised by the information that among Tessarian’s associates, many support the Venatori. Magister of House of Lucanus agrees in his policies in many essentials with the Venatori, while disapproving of the methods they have chosen to achieve them. I am in complete agreement with our patron in this regard, and had the circumstances been different, I might have worked alongside the Venatori to prevent the Qunari flood to the continent. Alas, that doesn’t seem to be an option anymore. Not ever since they have sided with blighted, mad magister from the past. 

I hang out with Cole for a while, spending time blissfuly engulfed in the serenity his aura brings. Compassion is truly the gentlest of beings, and he has, for some unfathomable reason, missed me. I cannot begin to comprehend what draws him so much to me - me, close to the exact opposite of him. But Cole, of course, doesn’t agree with me on that score.

My moment of peace is interrupted by Varric knocking on my door. Hiding my animosity, I do not dally opening the door, while Cole soundlessly slips away. He knows I dislike attracting attention, and thoughtfully - compassionately - attempts to avoid bringing it about. 

‘I wouldn’t intrude on you, Flash, I know you are tired, but my friend here insisted on being brought here. I gather you know each other?’ There’s a clear question in dwarf’s eyes, as I turn my head to glance at his companion. I have felt a brush of familiar presence, of course, but with so many people in Skyhold, disregarded it. 

Unduly, it appears, as my eyes widen in shock.

Fenris?

What in the Void is he doing here?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am taking some liberties with Calpernia and Morrigan. Forgive me?  
> No fluff this chapter, and no Fen, but I need to push the story a bit more forward.


	47. Scheming Pride

**Scheming Pride**

It takes me a while to find my voice, and when I finally do, it is terse and strained.

‘We do. Know each other.’ I am ashamed of how weak I sound, how clearly tongue-tied. If I aimed at arousing Varric’s curiosity, I couldn’t have done anything more. Pulling myself together, I continue, taking care to even out my tone. ‘He is a fellow Wing, I am sure he has mentioned that.’

Varric looks up at me speculatively.

‘You are awfully surprised seeing Broody here.’

Of course I am. I have given a direct order forbidding anyone of the higher leadership from making appearance at Skyhold; and yet, here he is, my fourth in command. My Executioner. One would expect him to have more urgent issues to address, than visiting his estranged leader. Then again…

It is a shock when I realize how many months have passed ever since I’ve joined the Inquisition. Time has passed me by so swiftly!

‘Wings have decided to disengage themselves from my actions. I have never expected anyone to come here.’ I finally reply, glancing sharply at Fenris. He’d better have a reasonable explanation for his actions... or I’ll make him dearly regret it.

But this is neither the time, nor the place for this talk to happen. Without much resistance, I allow Varric to drag me to the tavern along with the Ghost. He fills our silence with good-humoured babbling, ensuring it doesn’t become awkward. The regulars have long filled their reserved spots in Herald’s Rest; and Fenris’ eyes flash dangerously at the sight of Chargers occupying their usual corner.

Fortunately, he remembers himself before I have to intervene, and forces a neutral expression back in place. Still, his lean muscles remain taunt, prepared for immediate reaction should it be necessary; and he rejects any of the potent alcohols, settling on a beer. Which I know for a fact he metabolizes faster than he drinks it. One of the side effects of lyrium in his veins, he explained once.

Once we are settled safely on the opposite side of the room, our orders placed, Varric does not hesitate from interrogating one of my most trusted comrades.

‘So, what brings you here? I thought you weren’t interested in lending a hand – not your climate or some other nonsense.’

I peak at the elf, curious how he handles his overly inquisitive friend.

‘I’m here to test the wonders of Orlesian wine.’ Fenris replies dryly, taking a pointed sip of the beer in front of him.

Varric snorts into his beverage with amusement, before exclaiming.

‘Maker, you must be losing your touch – you actually made a joke without prodding! Seriously though, what’s up?’

‘I came to convince one of our most talented people that we need her back home.’ Fenris lifts his glass to avoid looking at me; admiring the play of lights cast by it as the brightness of flames splits into myriad of smaller rays on the table.

I feel my hands clenching, as I wonder how to reply to this. Varric saves me from the necessity, noting with interest,

‘Home ey? You weren’t this cheerful about Tevinter when Hawke told you to guard Bethany on the way there.’

‘Things change.’

‘No shit, Broody.’ Varric shakes his head slightly at the curt response. ‘It’s good to see you, though. How has the life been treating you?’

Fenris smiles at him, and I’m struck by the honesty of it. They begin sharing news about their common friends, and I feel a little out of place, wondering why I’ve agreed to come at all. We’ve barely exchanged a word, and not touched at all on the topic of my interest - which is just as well, considering the public setting. I would have much rather remained in my small room, talking with Cole.

Once I reach this obvious conclusion, I use their inattention to slip out and return back to my quarters. Cole is gone, but Varric was right; I am tired.

The next day I finally manage to find a place of relative isolation; big surprise, battlements again. We can see anyone approaching from decent distance, but to tighten the safety, we switch to Tevene. I doubt many of the agents are proficient in it enough to follow the intricacies of our conversation.  

‘And here I thought we have a long-established practice of the modus operandi in my absence.’ I turn around to face Fenris, who raises his eyebrow.

‘Fean’Na. You know that is not the reason.’ His Tevene is still rough around the edges, rarely practiced, even after the years spent back in the Empire. In Minrathous, we use Common Tongue among each other - with the vast variety of races and nationalities gathered in Wings, it is only reasonable.

‘Well then, what the fuck are you doing here?’ I do remember explicitly forbidding anyone from coming.’

His gaze grows colder.

‘The Ben-Hassrath have been searching for Quicksilver. Some of our agents were assaulted with the explicit purpose of finding the information about you.’ The seriousness on his features tells me all I need to know about those subjected to this fate. It wasn’t pretty. ‘Nervlis has decided that with the Chargers present here, we need to ensure your safety. Officially, however, I am to convince you to come back.’

‘I have matters well in hand. Thanks to your misguided concern and **disregard** of my orders, the chances of my cover being blown just grew exponentially.’ Frustration colours my reply with bitterness, and my Ghost bristles.

‘Just as well. You might spend more time actually leading us, instead of traipsing across the countryside like a peasant. We have those in abundance, there's no need to add to their number.’ He snaps angrily, and my eyes widen at such forward criticism from him. ‘There’s a fucking Ben-Hasrath here, and it’s Hissrad himself. You have an alarming tendency of underestimating your opponents, the more you know about them; and just because you think you understand him, you disregard the danger he represents. Think again, Quicksilver! He is their best agent, and you sleep under the same roof!’

‘I am **not** disregarding anything.’ I growl out, incensed; but then force myself to take a deep breath and calm down. This is rather pointless. I pinch my nose, and say with exasperation,

‘Well, it does not matter in any case. The damage is done, and since you are already here, you might as well make yourself somewhat useful.’

He nods with apparent relief, and a thought flashes through my head that I might have been too easy on him. But my mind is already turning over an idea I’ve had a while back, and nodding to him, I make a decision to follow through with it. I barely notice as he falls back in step behind me, when I traverse the courtyard to the mess hall. People step out of my way while I direct myself straight to the main table, where the Inquisitor and most of her companions are having breakfast.

‘Dorian. Just the man I was looking for.’ I strive to make my smile pleasant, but the man is nonetheless so surprised by being addressed, he nearly chokes on the bread he was swallowing.

‘Fea.’ He coughs out, and downs some water to swallow the remainder of food in his throat. ‘Always a pleasure to see you. How can I be of assistance this beautiful morning?’

He is lying through his teeth, I know I make him uncomfortable. But the deeply ingrained manners and courtesy rules taught since childhood are stronger than his discomfort; a quality I actually quite appreciate in him. One day, it will be very useful for Dorian, instinctively reaching for the polite facade while he is forced to face his opposition in Senate.

My smile becomes more genuine at this thought, and I reply politely.

‘A moment of your time, if you will.’

As we exit the dining hall, Fen catches my eyes, tilting his head in Fenris’ direction with clear question. I shrug neutrally, letting him know I will address it later.

‘Dorian, I do have a question regarding the time you’ve been observing the Venatori. Did you, perchance, notice a group of them leaving in some other direction before the army moved to attack Haven?’

Even if he is taken aback by the unexpected question, he doesn’t let it show, only frowns thoughtfully.

‘Possibly.’ Dorian nods, with some hesitation. ‘You must forgive me, it has been quite some time, and I do not remember things all that clearly. But I think… Yes, I am nearly certain a small contingent split away from the main force, before they have left Redcliffe. Why would you ask?’

‘It has come to my attention that Arl Guerrin’s son was among the mages of the rebellion. Obviously, his value as a hostage would far exceed any offensive potential he could have provided on the battlefield.’ I explain distractedly, glancing at Fenris. He connects the dots, just as I expected him to, raising his eyebrow questioningly.

‘Do you think he could still be alive? It has been a while. Over two years.’

‘True.’ I agree with his pessimistic conjectures. ‘But Ferelden has been reluctant to involve themselves in much of anything. If Arl Eamonn Guerrin is being blackmailed, it would certainly account for it. As I understand it, he is a rather prominent figure in the Court.’

Dorian shrugs.

‘I couldn’t say. Leliana or Josephine are much better oriented in the Ferelden’s political climate.’

‘Thank you, Dorian.’ I dismiss the mage offhandedly, not fully realizing what I am doing. I bite down on my tongue once I realize how imperiously I’ve sounded - so much he did my bidding without thinking on it twice. Creators, I really need to keep myself more in check.

‘Why should we get involved in one **more** issue?’ Asks Fenris, once we are alone in the garden.

‘Do you realize how much of a mess the situation in Denerim was?’

‘I’ve seen the report.’ He shrugs, but there is no disagreement in his voice. Both of us know it was a major clusterfuck, and entirely our fault. We should have done better.

‘We need to repair our reputation in Ferelden. If we managed to find the heir to Redcliffe…’ I trail off, not needing to state the obvious. Fenris hesitates, before reluctantly nodding his assent.

I move closer to one of the rose bushes, admiring the pale pink of the blossoms. The spring is in full swing, and the greenery surrounding us dazzles with myriad of colours. I pick one of the flowers, and begin playing with it, swirling its stem between my hands and avoiding the thorns, while my mind runs over the plans I have set in motion. There’s much to be done.

Clenching my hand into fist, I feel the prickling on my skin, until blood is drawn. I will not back down. I need to assemble more pieces in my hand. The Wings… They will have to persevere.

There’s simply no other recourse.

Later in the day, we bend our heads over the leather parchment. The information about the Venatori from Nervlis indicated a general direction where their main base could supposedly be found; and I would bet anything if the hostages are still alive, that’s where they have been brought. I do not think that Arl Guerrin’s child is the only one to be found, either. I look at the vast areas of wilderness in the Western Nevarra, bordering the Southern Part of Tevinter, and an uneasy shudder runs through me. That’s a lot of terrain to cover.

Fenris argues with the direction my plans are taking vehemently, so much that some people are glancing our way uneasily. I would have chosen less public setting, alas, the access to good maps of Thedas is limited to Leliana’s and Cullen’s offices. Because I do not want Nightingale looking over my shoulder, I borrow one of Cullen’s, who allows it under the condition of immediate return. I can sympathize with his worry, good maps are hard to come by; thus, we are forced to consider our options in a less than perfect setting.

‘We can’t afford to lose this many people from Kirkwall. The blockage of the port from Ben-Hassrath will become ineffective!’ Fenris states firmly.

‘Who said anything about Kirkwall?’ I ask rhetorically. ‘Move our teams from Solas and surrounding areas. Ever since we have squashed most of the local slave transport routes, this base has been overstaffed in any case.’

Fenris shakes his head in disagreement.

‘We need to keep control of the roads to mines, or the trade will spring back up again.’

‘This is not up for discussion, Ghost. You will do as you were told.’ I say decisively, steel ringing in my words. ‘Pull out all strike and scouting teams. Find me the boy. I want you, Fiona and Ryanth on the site, and leave the decisions up to your discretion.’

Fenris sighs heavily, shaking his head.

‘I am not leaving you here alone.’

‘Fine.’ I snarl irritably, glancing at the map again. Creators know I do not need a babysitter, but I have no patience for arguing with him. ‘Then Fiona and Valeria, and I’ll leave Ryanth behind for  Nervlis as a backup.’

‘You might consider keeping your voice down, unless you wish for all of Skyhold’s attention on yourselves.’ An amused voice chides me softly, and I lift my head with an instinctive smile, as a dear aura washes over me. I should not feel surprised at my wolf’s fluency in Tevene; of course he would have mastered it. He is better even than Fenris, who had only a few years of break from using it, and was **born** in Empire.

‘I suspect it is much too late for the warning, but I appreciate the sentiment.’

Fen smiles back, in complete agreement with my words. His eyes shine with mischievousness which makes me want to embrace him, but I have to settle for slight brush of my hand over his in greeting, as I clear my throat and say,

‘Solas, allow me to introduce Fenris. Fenris is one of my closest companions within the Wings. Fenris, this is Solas, my… friend.’

The males glance at each other appraisingly. I can’t even begin guess what goes through their heads, their faces remaining completely impassive while few seconds pass. Fen turns to face me, and grasping my arm with pointed familiarity, murmurs,

_‘I would hate to interrupt for much longer. I will see you later?’_

_‘Of course.’_ I reply immediately. He nods to Fenris with relative friendliness, before leaving us at a sedate pace.

‘So that’s the wolf’ mutters Fenris to himself quietly, and I take a sip of water to cover for my discomfort. I do not think he realizes I’ve heard him. This is not a topic I am very comfortable discussing. He glances at me, and speaks more loudly,

‘I had thought you said the Dread Wolf, back then. From what Valeria told me, he is the deity you worship?’

I choke on the water I was drinking, and begin coughing. Talk about awkward. I can feel the tips of my ears reddening, and I studiously avoid looking in Fen’s direction, even from the corner of my eye, desperately fighting down the flush. I desperately hope he is far enough not to have heard it, but my luck was so atrocious as of late, I doubt it.

‘Not at all, I am praying to the Creators. I respect him.’ I sigh with uneasiness, adding, ‘And I was both drunk, and annoyed at the time. I’ve said whatever came to my mind to get Valeria off me.’

Fenris tilts his head with a slight frown, returning his attention to the task ahead of us.

 ‘All of Wings from Solas? It will be hard to hide.’

I snort derisively.

‘Aren’t we the best in Thedas? Get it done.’

He rolls his eyes at my commanding tone, but nods. Had we been back home, he would have bowed - fortunately, he remembers our circumstances before embarrassing both of us.

Finally we return the parchment back to Cullen, and settle that Fenris will travel to Val Royeaux and deliver my dispositions. He departs immediately, hoping to return before the Inquisition assigns me another major mission.

For now, I remain in Skyhold, while the Inquisitor accompanied by Dorian, Iron Bull and Sera travel to investigate more of Calpernia’s origins. The reason why I am not sent along is clear enough, Leliana following up on her strategy of separating me from Ben-Hassrath whenever possible. I do not mind being excluded from this particular expedition, Shrine of Dumat used to be one of the most creepy places of worship I have ever seen. Even before it had fallen into disrepair through ages of non attendance. The God of Silence was a cruel being, demanding complete devotion from his followers, marked by life of self-denial and power-seeking.

In comparison, the Evanuris had low and harmless expectations from the populace. Before they begun warring one another.

I feel a wave of uneasiness at leaving the Dalish girl unattended by either me, or Fen; but I can only hope she doesn’t kill herself in the meantime. The full contingent of scouts sent along under Harding’s leadership ought to be enough for support, but accidents happen.

My time in Skyhold is largely unoccupied, and I use it to catch up with Dagna and some of my reports to be sent, while avoiding Hawke. I do not think the man would recognise me - we met years ago, and only briefly. Still, I would rather not risk it.

His arrival has caused quite a stir - apparently, Varric had lied about his whereabouts to Cassandra. She did not take kindly either to it, or that he has managed to fool her. Her frustration with the dwarf could be heard across whole courtyard, and without Ellana to stop them, the two have been squabbling for a couple of days.

Personally, I completely understand, and support, Varric’s viewpoint. He was captured by Seekers of Truth and forcefully interrogated. He couldn’t be certain of Chantry’s intentions regarding Hawke, especially with Meredith’s actions. And the circumstances of his imprisonment were far from reassuring. So he chose to protect his friend. I would have done the exact same thing in his place.

Finally, Cullen is the one to play peacemaker between both of them, the calm voice of reason. Both Josephine and Leliana were having too much fun at the expense of the two arguers to run interference of any kind, and so it falls to the Commander. I did not expect him capable of raising to the occasion, but he pleasantly surprises me. I guess there’s more to him than strategy, fighting prowess and old-fashioned chivalry…

I did not expect it, but in Sera’s absence I become closer to Blackwall as well. My initial impression of him resembling Maferath only grows as we spend more time together. Both of them share the no-nonsense, practical point of view and sceptic outlook on the world, with deeply ingrained sense of duty. His sole detriment, in my eyes, is weakness for the insolent street brats with pointy ears.

Finally, I also meet up with Fen, and we spend nights climbing the roofs of his fortress and admiring the moon and stars. The first evening, he quips in greeting,  

 _‘Only respect? I am wounded, Pride, wounded.’_ Fen’s eyes twinkle with mirth, and I scowl, irritated by his amusement at my expense.

 _‘I didn’t see you as one fishing for compliments.’_ I answer ironically, trying to turn the situation around.

 _‘And here I thought we were closer than that!’_ The timbre of his voice takes on a mockingly hurt tone, and I roll my eyes in exasperation.

 _‘Cut me some slack here, Fen.’_ I mutter tiredly. _‘This must have been one of the most bizarre conversations I’ve had.’_

_‘Smile for me, and I’ll let it go.’_

I can’t help brightening, this is the sweetest things I’ve heard in a while. He extends his hand to me, and I jump up at the uneven tiles of the roof, grasping it to regain my balance. I could manage without it, of course; but any excuse for seeking his touch is acceptable. We sit down on the edge, and I swing my legs back and forth, looking down on the slowly depopulating courtyard. Shadows grow longer, night grows deeper, and Fen’s hand entwined with mine grows warmer. I do not mind the silence, and time passes without either of us breaking it.

During the second night, I flip up to the top of the roof, and spreading my hands balance on the edge of the abyss. There’s an undeniable thrill, being this close to danger, so close a single misstep could cost me my life. I see a flash of worry in Fen’s eyes, stifled by his iron clad control, even as I twirl of one foot daring him to speak up.

But he bites back whatever words rise in his throat to stop me, and finally, deciding I can’t bait anymore reaction out of him, I jump back to the even ground. He really knows me better than anyone; his not speaking up proves us much. He knows there are days when I need this, to remind myself that I am still alive after all this time, the little pangs of fear as my courage raises to meet the challenge.

But I also know him, and I know that I owe him an explanation about some things. All this stalling is quite unfair to him, and so I finally breach the long-avoided topic of Shartan.

 _‘You were wrong about one thing.’_ Fen looks at me in quiet enquiry, and taking a deep breath, I continue. _‘It is not love, what I feel for Shartan. It’s regret.’_

There’s a lost look on his face and so much uncertainty, my heart breaks. I step a bit closer, embracing him in reassurance. He sighs into my hair, and circles his hands around me, but his pulse remains uneven and stressed.

Fen was so decisive, so sure of himself, when he decided to challenge all of the remaining Evanuris. So brave, to take on the thankless role no one demanded of him but himself. My wolf is proud and charming and chivalrous, and wise. First and foremost wise. Never before had I seen him so insecure, doubting his importance to me, regardless of all the evidence to the contrary. I dislike this, him so unlike himself. I dislike the thought that I have made him so.

 _‘Truly. I see the lost opportunity, lost potential of what might have been. But what Shartan was for me could never compare to what we have shared. Even your memory was more than he could compete against.’_ I pause, before admitting with self-loathing, _‘and he was very much aware of this.’_

I was cruel. Petty and cruel to one who loved me. I should have respected his feelings more, should not have made him feel inadequate. It was not his fault, in any way, that Fen was and meant for me so much more than he ever did.

My wolf immediately notices my plummeting mood, and places his hand on my cheek, forcing me to look up at him.

 _‘Hey.’_ Fen delicately caresses my skin under his fingers. _‘Do not, ever, fault yourself for caring for me more than you did for others.’_ His voice is firm and resolute, and I close my eyes to appreciate his touch. _‘And neither should you feel guilty for being honest with them. It is, always, kinder than a letting them live a lie.’_

I feel him bending slightly, and his lips brush against mine. The world disappears. I am soaring with him by my side, aware only of his presence as he pours his love and tenderness into this feather-like touch grounding me in reality. I respond, there was never a question of me not responding, desperate and leaning into his embrace, gracelessly clinging to him as my balance falters. I nearly fall, but of course, he is there to catch me before I can.

Our kiss is delicate, and sweet, and much more innocent than what I would have wished for, but at the same time, it is better than anything I’ve imagined. I am left without a doubt about the magnitude of his devotion to me, expressed in the soft touch and gentleness with which he holds me. What Fen awakens within me, desire and longing and so much love my heart is threatening to burst, cannot compare to anything I’ve ever experienced before. I always knew that I loved him, but it all pales in face of the blazing certainty I have now. There could never be anyone but him for me.

The last semblance of control I had over my aura snaps, and my magic unleashes around us, wild and for the first time in ages, untamed. Fortunately, Fen is slightly more composed than myself, and securing his hold on my waist, he breaks our kiss to coax my magic back to its usual indiscernible levels.

I use this moment to catch my breath, feeling deep crimson spreading on my cheeks and his heart, beating wildly under my hand. Maybe he is not quite as calm about it as he appears.

Once the last of my mana is reigned in, Fen looks down on me with a question written in his eyes. Without hesitation I reach out, and placing my hand on the back of his head bring it down to meet my lips again, chasing out the last of coherent thoughts from my mind. There’s only him and me, sweet honey bliss of desire and cool serene certainty of love, and sunshine brightness that is our shared happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have received a message I believe I have to respond to.  
> In case any of You, my dear Readers, have doubts: I am reading all of Your comments. Often, more than once. I thrive on Your support, it is what convinces me, and helps me keep this story going. When my inspiration is lacking, I just go back and read the thoughts You have kindly shared with me, one after another. There’s no greater motivation to be found, and I dare any writer to deny the joy of receiving another kind word, another pledge of support. It makes all my efforts worthwhile.  
> As much as I enjoy writing the story, it is amazing and deeply flattering that You like reading it.  
> Thank You for this.


	48. Shattered Pride

**Shattered Pride**

I can’t believe we took so long to find each other. I say as much when we separate, and Fen laughs at me. I revel in the new quality to his chuckle, unrestrained joy resounding deeply in his tone. I take no small amount of pride in the fact I am the cause of it. 

_ ‘I wonder, however, what made you reach out to me, if you thought I longed for Shartan.’ _ Now that we crossed another threshold, I do not fear expressing myself honestly. I know he won’t be hurt by this question anymore, convinced of my true loyalties remaining with him; as they always were.

_ ‘I’ve never stopped caring for you, Pride. But I couldn’t be certain you’ve returned the sentiment, and, much like yourself I suppose, I would have hated pressuring you into anything. I knew you had lovers, during the time we’ve been apart, and, well… Shartan was the one I had feared the most.’  _ The wolf shrugs, and I kiss his cheek in quiet reminder of what passed between us, to brighten the mood somewhat darkened by the mention of other men in my life. 

_ ‘I must have slipped during the ball, then.’ _ I murmur without much concern.

_ ‘Indeed. And I’m very glad you did; who knows how long it would take us to understand each other, otherwise.’ _

_ ‘True. We are both proficient at hiding our feelings, rather than putting them on display. Pray tell, what tipped me off?’  _ I find myself truly curious. We both had troubles reading each other after all the time spent apart, so it must have been something very obvious.

_ ‘You told me to dance with Ellana.’  _ He huffs in amusement.  _ ‘The Pride I knew would have never rejected the possibility to dance herself; and it made me think twice why would you do so. I couldn’t believe you’ve changed that much.’ _

I concede his point with a slight smile, curling up by his side. It would take a complete shift in my character to deny myself the one thing I have always loved about my life in Thedas. 

We talk for long hours, with him describing the first years after the Veil took hold over the world. It was a complete chaos, with that with the disappearance of the Arlathan and Evanuris. 

_ ‘I take it Arlathan is wholly enclosed beyond the Veil?’  _ I ask to make certain I’ve understood him correctly.

_ ‘Yes. Without Fade energies upholding the magic keeping it in the air, it would have plummeted down, caused unimaginable devastation. Also it was much easier to capture all of the Evanuris at once when they were all in town; neither was willing to give it up, and the official mantle of power, to others.’ _

He speaks of his first awakening, his utter horror at the realization of the price Elvhen had paid for Veil’s creation. Skirting on the edge of his words is his fear, about me and for me; his uncertainty of my survival and finally, unmitigated relief at finding out I was largely unaffected by the changes on Thedas. Fen’s description of Tevinter before first blight makes my eyes misty; I am saddened at the reminder of profound consequences the horde of creatures had wrought. The proud empire brought to its knees by unexpected disaster. Andraste’s - Maker’s - rebellion was hitting them when they were already down, not really an achievement.

I respond by describing what I remember of time when I was asleep. Of my desperate determination to remain there as long as I could, even as days dragged by one after another adding weight to the geass calling me back. Of the growing uneasiness at my peaceful country, where people surrounding me couldn’t even begin to imagine the horrors I have faced. My voice falters when I admit that I feel like a stranger on Earth. That my home is on Thedas, and were I ever forced to go back for good, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself. Stammering, I admit that had I a choice right now, I would choose to remain. Make the geass permanent. 

Fen’s eyes glitter strangely, and his tone is morose when he says,

_ ‘You might yet change your mind about that.’ _

_ ‘Whatever do you mean?’  _ I demand, unhappily surprised at his doubting my resolve. But Fen refuses to explain, so dismayed and a bit thrown off guard, I continue the story with my second return to Tevinter.

For obvious reasons, I do not go much in depth about my time with Wings; but when it comes to describing the rebellion, my voice begins stammering. I attempt to get it under control, but it remains shaky as the horrors of that war are painted before Fen’s eyes in disjointed, unclear words.

Reacting to my distress, the wolf says,

_ ‘You do not have to continue. I am aware of the events that had passed, Shartan’s journals were quite comprehensive; I hate seeing you so distressed.’ _

_ ‘I know I don’t. But I feel like I need to, for you to understand.’  _ My eyes plead with him for patience. Fen looks at me appraisingly, finally nodding with clear reluctance. 

Before I can continue, he grabs my hand laying by his side, and bends his head to plant a soft kiss on the back of it. I feel comforted, and words begin to form more fluidly in my mind, become a steady flow instead of random splutter. In spite of recalling horrors, I am enveloped in warmth and happiness as he delicately holds me, caressing the skin of my hand. His steady presence, and more importantly lack of condemnation, or even judgement, of my actions, are everything I’ve ever hoped for; everything I had feared would be denied.

I tell him my version, my story, the one not written down in by historians. The desperate reality which forced army officers to go raiding and scavenging. The needless and unnecessary cruelties which I watched, and those I have committed. My pettiness and selfishness and growing detachment from the situation. I hold nothing back - and yet, Fen continues to embrace me, remains the supportive presence which kept me together in my darkest hours. Even when he wasn’t really there, he and the dreams of him had kept me whole. How did I ever believe I could survive without him?

I watch Andraste burn again, only this time, Fen’s arms surround me; and so, I look at it with clear eyes and clear conviction. Instead of squirming with guilt I can calmly state that I made the right call in supporting Maferath’s decision.

I guess it is high time I’ve admitted that. It’s been only, what, ten centuries, give or take?

Have I made complete peace with what happened? No, and I don’t think I ever will. But steadfast and unquestionable acceptance from my wolf helps burying another scrap of guilt. I had made large progress of coming to terms with myself in the company of my Wings, especially thanks to Valeria, but in the end, I have always feared Fen’s reaction.

The next day, Fenris returns. He and Varric begin spending inordinate amounts of time with Hawke, catching up while waiting for the Inquisitor to return from mission. It is apparently imminent, but for me, it couldn’t be soon enough. The damned elf still - in spite of the chief danger to me within Skyhold being miles away - considers himself my bodyguard. I get dragged along to their hangouts and parties, regardless of my most sincere desire otherwise.

I do not know the stories they constantly reference; and I see no humour in the situations they recall. I simply do not fit within their merry group, and in my attempts to escape the unwanted company, I find myself surprisingly often in that of Cullen’s. The man attempts to convince me for a party of chess with him, or Thedasian equivalent of it. The figures move differently, and there’s a random factor weaved in, a Triad, to make it a more accurate depiction of war, but… It’s still chess. And I suck at it. 

I guess I ought not to. The games, real life games I’m involved in, are much more complicated. Much more deadly. People involved make a very hard template to predict and manipulate; and single mistake is costly. And main currency in the theatre of politics is blood.

Remembering that, I just can’t get involved when I look at the wooden riders on the board, or jewelled aristocrats immortalised in eccentric figures. I do not have motivation to learn the rules, because regardless of how good the likening, in real life there are no such things as rules. They’re always meant to be broken. There are no bounds that do not get transcended; limits overcome and boundaries crossed. On Earth, humans have reached the stars. Here, magic denies the rules of physics every day, and immortals play with their followers, drawing them into the ruthless insanity of their game. Until the pieces are so worn down, they are no longer useful; and then they are discarded. Like Andraste.

And when I look at it impartially, I’m often not much better, not much different from others in my cold-blooded calculations.

So I rebuff Cullen’s offer, and instead, trick Fen into playing. My wolf sighs, and treats me to a long-suffering look, but I do not think he minds it very much. Once Fen has the rules down, he smashes Cullen without mercy. I derive great amusement from observing the astounded onlookers who clearly expected anything but that. Somehow, they always underestimate my wolf.

He lets his mask slip, just a tiny bit, immersed in the intellectual challenge before him. Leliana gets a glimpse of his frightening intellect, no more than that, but it is enough to change her attitude towards him. I am gleefully satisfied, since I’ve achieved both of my goals. Fen will be taken more seriously from now on by the Spymistress without revealing too much about him; but more importantly, he was diverted from his worries. My other half truly had fun playing with Cullen, and I promise myself, I will find a way to repay this favour to the general.

If there’s one call I can say with complete certainty Leliana made a mistake of,  it was not sending Vivienne along with Ellana. Morrigan has been disappointed by my pointed lack of interest in her ever since my return, but she quickly changed her object of interest. And sparks went flying, because if there’s one person that get’s on Lady de Fer’s nerves more than myself, it would be the witch. Morrigan is the walking, talking denial of everything Vivienne was ever taught to value. To make matters worse, she gained distinguished position within the court, easily comparable to that of Vivienne’s, and Enchantress never quite forgot this slight from the Empress.

In fact, Morrigan’s sole existence undermines Vivienne’s achievements, authority. It is no wonder she holds little love for the apostate witch; and adding to that very, very different opinions and both of them being outspoken, well. Let’s just say I have taken to avoiding their lively debates easily turning into insult contests; and they have been explicitly forbidden by Josephine from using any magic within Skyhold.

Just before Inquisitor’s return, Sister Nightingale lets her scouts lose on Crestwood. Hawke accompanies us, because he is supposed to meet his Warden contract somewhere in the area; and Fenris does because no one would dare tell him otherwise. Ma’Fen, Solas, comes along since he is bored and without clear task for now. Somehow, Varric manages to charm his way into the expedition, and Sera gets thrown out of Skyhold; Josephine is arranging some diplomatic conference, and Red Jenny’s presence in the vicinity would be simply inviting trouble. We are a lively bunch and I cringe at the thought of trouble they will attempt to get me into; even with Fen’s mollifying presence.

The Inquisition has been, for some time already, concerned by the Warden involvement in the Temple Tragedy. There’s no accounting for it, and I know Leliana has been harbouring some unpleasant suspicions about their role in all this - rifts, explosion, shocking freedom of a the Magister who was supposed to be long dead by Hawke’s hand.

Hawke tells us this story over the fire first evening. While the man does not have Varric’s talent for weaving pictures in the air with his words, he is not half-bad of a storyteller, and I am completely engrossed in it. It is all creepy sinister magic, blood rituals, prison breaks and dark yet heroic family history. With bated breath I listen to his description of the final battle with the Magister, him summoning countless demons to his aid and them, prevailing against all odds. 

Isabela never quite mentioned this part of her colourful past, and, according to Hawke, she was with them all the way till the very end. I decide to chew her out for withholding vital information upon my return.

With a thoughtful frown, Hawke recalls the strange influence Corypheus seemed to have over some minds; and we collectively begin to wonder whether it is only Wardens he was able to affect, or are we all endangered. It is a disconcerting thought, but I am appeased when Fen shakes his head decisively at my inquisitive glance. No, the magister could not tamper with anyone but those already carrying the Blight within them.

I do not share this insight with others, allowing their discussion to run its course. It would be hard to explain how can I be so certain; why Fen couldn’t be wrong. And I am not about to divulge his thousands years of experience as my argument. 

As we ready ourselves for rest, I mentally sort through the wealth of information I have acquired today. I do not know what to think of the undeniable Warden involvement; on one hand their assistance to the Blighted Magister would be like completely denying the meaning of their mission. Grey Wardens are supposed to fight against the Blight, that is their life purpose - not follow commands of one of the afflicted creatures. With the price paid for induction into the order, I would be very much surprised had they been eager to waste their own sacrifice away.

Because joining the Wardens is a death sentence. Of course, living a life is ultimately a death sentence - with few exceptions - and one could die walking out of their homes. However the Wardens impose a time limit on themselves, and in give or take twenty years the price for their speed, agility, strength and keen sense of the darkspawn is paid. They bear no children, rendered infertile by the ritual; a fact which will bring no end of troubles with Ferelden’s succession one day. King Alistair had worn grey in the past, and Queen Anora remains childless to this moment.

But I am losing track of my thoughts. What Wardens suffer for the sake of defeating Blight cannot be diminished or disparaged; even though I hate all the drivel of Maker’s intervention for the sake of humanity, and I do not believe Grey Wardens are any sort of permanent solution. I do not believe Maker has created Blight in the first place, and I do not think he is capable of fully stopping it. The Wardens are his patchwork solution to a problem which has already existed; at least that’s how I see it. 

Considering all that, I have trouble accepting that Wardens would support Corypheus. But I’ve seen stranger things happen; and people have a long history of betraying their beliefs and faith.

After a couple of days of rather uneventful journey, I reach a few conclusions. Unsurprisingly, Sera is being a pain in the ass - more than usual, that is - annoyed at the unceremonious way in which she was booted out of Skyhold for the conference. I do have a certain degree of sympathy for her hurt feelings, but really, she worked hard to achieve and maintain her reputation of being trouble. Is it any surprise that when there’s something really important happening, Josephine would rather keep Sera away, in case she screws it up, somehow?

On the note of screwing things up, I have literally no idea how Hawke has survived as long as he did, and with the company he had kept. Both Fenris and Varric are brimming with ridiculous ideas, their focal point being extreme danger these would place all of us in. Fen is being of no help at all, his eyes shining with amusement whenever they come up with something even more outrageous than before. And of course, dissuading them results in me being called a killjoy with no sense of adventure whatsoever.

I have been adventuring many times longer than they’ve been alive, for Creators’ sake! 

Their latest brilliant plan was to go hunt down the dragon which we saw circling over the Crestwood area. Let’s forget we have no backup, are on the unfamiliar terrain, and oh, a minor thing - there’s a plague of rising dead in the vicinity, somehow activated by the rift. Which is, of course, letting demons through as well, as if the mix was not unpleasant enough. But no, no, let’s go dragon hunting.  

I feel like banging my head on a tree, at times. 

Crestwood would have been a completely unassuming, boring really town, were it not for the aforementioned undead uprising. Fen is not quite certain what has caused the spirits of dead to linger here. He thinks something terrible must have happened, some large-scale tragedy with many victims, which attracted the spirits and which with the strong rift in the area are creating the plague.

After my job is done, and Hawke has left a message for his contact, we ready ourselves to return to Skyhold with haste. We can’t really do anything about the undead without Ellana closing the rift, and the town will not hold against this onslaught for much longer.

In the evening, once people are asleep, I sneak out of the campsite, to meet up with my wolf. It is but a short distance away. I climb up the small hill, and there he is, perched up on top of a large, round stone. Fen smiles at the sight of me, just a slight tilt of his lip, but his eyes glow with emotion and he might as well have grinned.

_ ‘Missed me?’  _ I smile cheekily, coming up. He snatches my hand, pulling me down onto his lap, and breathes into my hair,

_ ‘Always.’  _

We have not discussed this, but by mutual consent, we are keeping our relationship down. Fen wants to talk with Ellana before we become official, so to speak - at least to the knowledge of the Inquisition. I do not mind it, and actually, would much rather not mention anything at all to the others; but my wolf dislikes all the sneaking around like thieves, and short stolen moments for ourselves.

Fen’s arms tighten around me, and I sigh, drinking in his presence. Somehow, without my conscious decision, I turn my head up, and our lips meet. Even after many kisses, the feeling of elation is in no way diminished, and I am still soaring. It is Fen who is touching me, and because I can read poems of love and devotion from his eyes. I do not think I could ever get enough of it, losing myself in the stormy grey of his irises, glowing in the dark.

As we break it off for a while, Fen asks me neutrally,

_ ‘I have grown curious about one thing. Do you dislike Sera?’ _

_ ‘Hm. Rather than dislike, I pity her.’  _ I take a moment to gather my thoughts; his hand circling on back does not support my concentration.  _ ‘Hers is a sad fate. She is doomed to be betrayed by those she claims to defend.’ _

_ ‘A rather bleak ending.’  _ Fen agrees with me. 

_ ‘It all depends on the size of bounty on her head. One day greed will become stronger than gratitude; and that will be the day when Sera dies.’  _ I shrug nonchalantly, uncaring. These are her mistakes; I have ensured that Wings had a powerful supporter before I went completely wild. And Tessarian, for all his faults, is a loyal patron; he has helped to ensure there was never any decisive action against my organization.

Nuzzling my nose into the crook of his neck, I close my eyes, relaxing. Fen kisses my forehead and cradles me closer. My lids begin dropping, as exhaustion settles in.  I am worn down from the rigorous scouting and keeping my magic in check at all times. Not allowing even the smallest amount of mana to leak; not using any of the convenient tricks I have up my sleeve makes for exercise in care and self-control of the highest degree.

I do not remember getting back to camp; I rather suspect Fen carried me there. But in the morning, we barely have a few minutes to grab some food before rushing off. We push mounts to make greater effort, and reach Skyhold in record time. By the time we cross the gates, poor animals are at the end of their endurance. 

Sister Nightingale awaits us at the stables, called down from her tower by our rapid approach. I jump off my galant, and saluting - only somewhat sarcastically - to Leliana, begin a succinct report summarizing the situation. She nods to my words, noting them for later analysis; and soon begins ordering people around to prepare for Inquisitor’s departure. 

I leave her to it, and with a sigh of relief at a task accomplished return to my room. I barely manage to remove the clasps of my armour before collapsing on the bed, dead asleep.

After a few hours of uninterrupted rest, I finally deign to grace others with my presence again. I am still far from completely recovered, but upsetting my inner clock is not the way to go about it. So I head to the tavern, deciding that eating something better than the canteen food will go a long way of helping me restore my balance after eighteen hours of riding with only few short moments of break. 

Before I can climb down the stairs, however, a sudden commotion near the gates catches my attention, when a rider at full speed bursts into the courtyard. It is rather late, and travelling at such speed in mountains would be really risky for the animal, so I can guess the message is both of vital importance and very urgent. As I begin making my way down without a hurry, suddenly, Hawke exclaims his astonishment.

‘Sister dearest! What an unexpected surprise! Here I thought you seven leagues away, enclosed in the bloody Tevinter’ he laughs at himself and the weak pun, ‘yet here you are!’

‘Not here for you.’ The woman, which up closer turns out to be indeed Bethany, snaps at her older sibling. She darts with her eyes across the Skyhold, clearly in search of something. Or some **one** . I can feel my gut clenching, and brace myself.

‘That would mean you are here for me.’ I speak up, jumping down the last few flights of steps. Hawke throws me an appraising look, before turning back to his sister with clear question in the eyes.

‘I guess you have not informed your brother about your association with us.’ I note, attempting - and failing - to keep my tone lighthearted and nonchalant.

‘My brother is a gossip who couldn’t keep his mouth shut had his life depended on it; and he is best friends with even a larger of a blabbermouth. Which is why Fenris had told him the bare minimum, while I have told him nothing.’ She purses her lips and sneers at her flabbergasted brother. Hawke pretends to take offence, but humorous glint in his eyes betrays he is really not concerned about Bethany’s opinion.

Well, at least that explains why he did not know of Bethany’s presence in Orlais.

I take a deep breath, attempting to get my pulse under control, before asking,

‘Well, you came here for a reason.’ Reason enough to abandon post and disregard my orders. Reason enough that she risked coming here, after countless hours of riding without breaks - clear from her stiff movement and artificially straight posture to lessen cramps and pain in the backside - to make the distance. ‘What happened?’

Bethany’s face suddenly crumples, her eyes tear up.

‘Oh Fea! Esme and Ebareth, and the little ones… They’re all gone!’ There’s a terrible grief  in her eyes when I look sharply at her, leaving me in no doubt of her words.

Even then, I cannot begin to comprehend the tragedy. Esme and Ebareth, they have just had their second child. They even named her Sola, in my honour, I was awaiting letter from them about the time when Esme with her youngest would be fit to make the journey back to Minrathous. I was planning on relieving the two of them from Rivain, and send Arissar with Bethany there. And now, the letter will never come. Now, they are gone. 

My eyes begin misting up, but with unrelenting determination, I push my grief back. There will be time for it later. Now, there are questions that need answers.

Why?

How?

And most importantly… Who?

Even as something in me shatters, I hear myself speaking in a measured, calm tone of voice,

‘I guess that means playtime is over.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated for fnuckle.  
> Dear fnuckle, I couldn't help but think on your words as I was writing a chapter. I had lots of fun following your comments as you were progressing through the story, wondering which chapter exactly had gotten you engaged so much that you left a comment behind, checking up on them and realizing that yes, my work is already THIS long, and all of those chapters are actually half-decent. Even if, currently, I am in the middle of rewriting them as well; they’re still engaging.  
> But the reason why I really had to do it, is to thank you for the reassurance of that last post. It is never pleasant for an author to learn she has lost a reader, even more so coupled with other words that person left behind. I never dismiss any of what people write to me, and I have spent many days wondering whether I have truly created such an unrelatable-to character with Fea as Mary Sue. In my misbegotten youth, when I was doing my first, shaky steps in writing, I did commit that mistake many times - in fact, one of the reasons I gave up on writing for 10 years was my dissatisfaction with my uninteresting characters. So I must admit, that accusation really hit it home, and I was at a complete loss for a while, explaining before myself that this time, I did not do so. This time, Fea’s flaws and strengths are explainable and even somewhat believable. But it is nice to have someone else reassure me of that as well. So. Thank you again, and everyone ought to that you too, because this chapter progressed as fast and smooth in writing thanks to your input, dear fnuckle. I seriously thought I wouldn't be able to put it up this week.  
> On that note, next chapter might be a bit late, depending on how inspired I'll be feeling. It will not be easy to write, even though the general outline is long in place (actually I had it prepared nearly from the beginning of the story - the outline, I mean).


	49. Resolute Pride

**Resolute Pride**

It takes a humongous effort of willpower, but I keep my voice from shaking.

‘Do you know anything more?’

Bethany blinks in bewilderment, clearly thrown by my apparent indifference. It takes her a second to snap back into shape, and hand me a message.

‘From Nervlis.’ She explains unnecessarily, as I rip the envelope open, and impatiently skim through familiar penmanship. I swallow down nausea at the sharply factual, brief description of the deaths of my friends. Their throats have been slit, Esme bearing some signs of torture. But there weren’t enough marks for it it to have been prolonged. My spymaster and unofficial second speculates the intruders have been interrupted, forced to abandon their interrogation part-way through.

I finish the letter, punctuated by Nervlis conjectures and the few things he could actually find out in short period of time that has passed, and let my mind run wild. The little hints of dissent, small signs along the way and Ben’Hassrath running rampant on Thedas. I clench my hands into fists, uncaring of the crumpling paper, as the picture clarifies in my head.

I close my eyes for the moment, thoughts swirling, and exhaling slowly, squash down the terrible sorrow and pain. The vivid pictures painted before me, of Esme’s spirited eyes losing their glow, Ebareth’s well-trained body growing cold, make each breath rugged and stifling; my lungs set aflame, throat clenched. My heart threatens to burst from pain as I consider how much of it has been my failure. Their demise is my responsibility.

No matter how many centuries pass, there’s no accounting for willful stupidity and blindness. I chose to avert my eyes from reality, I chose to hide behind the illusion of safety and lost myself in contentment. Being with Fen made me… lazy. Unwinded and trusting in a way that I’ve avoided - and for good reason. I played around, happy to go on pretending, happy to shed the heavy mantle of responsibility even for the short - or not so short, when I remember it has been nearly two years ever since I have left Minrathous to find Nervlis - time that it was, and now? 

I just pretended, all along, I pretended; looking down on Ellana, with disdain disparaging her pacifistic ideas. My hypocrisy is rather astounding - was I jealous, possibly, of her naivety and brightness, shining even in this war? That her circumstances allowed her this mantle of innocence? That others took care of the gruesome details for her while I was forced to deal with everything - often by my own hand?

I had warned her of keeping priorities straight… All the while, I employed half-hearted measures, praying that time itself would solve my conflicted loyalties between Fen and Wings. What sort of idiot was I, to hope for swift resolution against centuries old, undead magister? Obviously, Corypheus is in no hurry for the final showdown, he has ages before him still!

Now, the consequences of this complacency lay before me.

I have failed my Wings as a leader. There’s no avoiding this fact, no explanation for it - I had a duty and I have failed. The accusations Valeria had once threw in my face suddenly have a bitter ring of truth in them. I knew that in reality, none of the other Wings was prepared to fully step in my shoes. None could replace me at the top; not now. I have had years of varied experiences over them, and the success of my Wings could be, in large, attributed to my ability to see through the bigger picture. Not because I was in any way more intelligent than any of my fellows - I just saw up close betrayal and greed and war, and the many shapes each of them took.

But this very success of my organisation was partially the cause of Ebareth’s and Esme’s death, and that as well, was my fault; aside from complacency. Had I kept my Wings smaller. Less important. Less… involved. 

That, too, was within my power.

But no, I just had to meddle. To the void, I meddled in everything. And now, my dear friends paid for my arrogance. For my belief I could have an even field with the most ruthless while remaining mostly uninvolved and benevolent, myself. What sort of ridiculous fantasy was that? When one plays with cheaters and murderers, keeping one’s hands clean in not a virtue anymore. It is a setback. It is crippling yourself, and my personal - regardless how loose - code of honour was precisely that. A crutch holding me back from what needed to be done.

There’s no honour among the thieves. I should have remembered. I thought I did, but being with Fen, I allowed myself to be less of a coldly calculating killer. I allowed myself to temporarily forget - I was fighting a war. Ever since I had stepped on Valotaar’s ship, I have involved myself in one of the most violent conflicts since the beginning of Thedas.

The fact that even in this terrible circumstances, I can feel a measure of relief my Wings had died swiftly reminds me that I am just as much of a monster as the other players in this brutal game of influence and power. My own coldheartedness sends shivers down my spine. Did I really think to cheat reality? Or myself?

It is much easier to be angry then sad. And so, in the misty haze of grief, self-doubt and self-recrimination I become enraged. But the wrath that appears is not hot and flaming, bursting and then losing potency. No, it is razor sharp and cold ice, staunch and unyielding once I reconcile myself with the necessity of what has to be done. 

It has many layers, and many causes. It is anger for they are twisting me, I am being stripped off the last of my humanity. It is because I am pushed and pulled and torn apart; while Thedas forces me to become more and more ruthless with each passing day.

Anger with myself, for I used to be too weak to stop myself from becoming a monster, and too weak to become one. Stuck in-between, forever in doubt of myself.

No more, no longer.

And no mercy. This time, I will leave my enemies trembling in my wake, and too many bodies to count. I’ll make them fear me, and fear striking against what’s mine. 

It is hard to judge how long I am lost in my thoughts, but when I finally lift my head, Bethany reacts with full alertness my words are due as the leader. I perceive on the edge of my consciousness her uneasiness; once she sees the new layer of steely resolve in my eyes, shining with barely contained violence.

‘I assume you have brought the papers I have requested during my last visit in Val Royeaux.’ I say with distracted detachment, more to myself than Bethany, but she still nods in confirmation. ‘Well then…’ My words are interrupted by Varric, opening the tavern door with a drunken lack of care, wooden frame bouncing back from the wall. 

‘Sunshine!’ The dwarf exclaims his surprise with the barest slur in his voice. They were celebrating, I knew that, though I was not interested enough to know what occasion warranted the party this time.

‘Not now, Varric.’ Bethany’s voice is strained enough to reveal tension, and she sends me an apologetic glance for dwarf’s hindrance to our conversation. I shrug dismissively; not bothering to voice my lack of concern.

The dwarf draws closer, and looking at her intently notes with clear worry in his voice,

‘You don’t look so good.’

‘Her position is not enviable; being the bearer of bad news can be a tricky business.’ My spine automatically stiffens at the comment rumbled in a low, measured calm of the Qunari’s voice as the man himself makes his way towards us from across the courtyard. ‘It takes self-control not to lash out against messenger.’

An icy coolness envelops me, blinders falling off my eyes. One of the puzzle pieces clicks into spot as I effortlessly connect his words with the situation in front of me.

Really, it should have been obvious.

‘When did you figure it all out?’ I wonder aloud musingly, slowly turning around to face Iron Bull. He smirks with self-depreciation, replying surprisingly honestly:

‘Just now. Your disguise, I am loath to admit, was near foolproof.’ 

I tilt my head, considering his answer, and the multilayered brilliance of their plan. 

All of Qunari actions, all of their focus in Kirkwall served merely as a distraction when they were preparing the operation. Had my attention not been split, I might have seen through this smokescreen… But it is a foregone conclusion, for I hadn’t, until it was far too late. Everyone is wise in hindsight.

I was never the target - or, to be more precise, I was never the sole target. Ebareth and Esme had been the core, my most important people in Rivain. By taking them out, Ben’Hassrath had unquestionably gained the upper hand in the region - and replacing my agents and their expertise is impossible. At least not in the near future; and I suspect I will regret their loss soon for the practical reasons just as much as I do for personal ones now. If not more.

Finding Quicksilver - by following the trail of our messengers, who had to be sent with their reports after the tragedy - was an added bonus, but by no means the prime goal.

We look at each other with tension crackling in the air. Me, lost in thought without care in the world, and the horned man, clearly preparing for the best moment to strike, waiting for his people to position themselves. I can hear their muted steps as they circle the courtyard and climb the roofs - the Chargers are good, but not that good. They aren’t assassins, and it explains their somewhat subpar sneaking skills.

Disregarding the uneasy silence or, more likely, trying to distract me from his preparations, Iron Bull drawls out with amused ridicule,

‘Come to think of it, we were reasonably certain your hair was actually silver.’ 

Unable to keep my snort back, I remove my wig in one smooth movement, shaking my head to loosen the slightly sweaty hair. There’s no loss in this small admission; and to be quite honest it is some relief to finally rid myself of the annoyance. Hawke gasps softly in sudden recognition by my side, while Varric positively gapes, clearly only just now realizing the undercurrents of our conversation.

The tavern doors thump loudly for the second time, and Fenris walks out briskly, with a slight grimace on his face. Off-handedly I realize he must have been the one paying for tonight’s indulgences for himself and his company.

He immediately notices the pressure lingering in the air, and with one sharp glance assesses the situation. Sending a questioning glance my way, he sighs softly to himself at the sight of my clear battle-readiness, before stretching his muscles with a deliberate slowness.

‘Of course it had to happen now, of all times.’ He grumbles under his nose irritably. I do not think anyone else but me understands his unintelligible mumbling. 

‘Have I ever mentioned that you do have an  **impeccable** sense of timing?’ My voice rings too brightly in my ears and I fight down a grimace of distaste. I am disgusted with the anticipation of the upcoming confrontation I feel; resounding in my bones, vibrating in my stretched loosely nerves, and in the slight tremors of my strained in preparation muscles.

Not much longer now, I tell myself, watching Iron Bull leisurely reaching for the battleaxe strapped against his back.

One. Two.

‘Go!’ I command my Wings, before dodging to the side narrowly avoiding arrow, with a swish passing by the spot I have just occupied. I do not acknowledge in any way the barrier Bethany has immediately sported around me and Fenris; too focused on my own troubles. I reach to my mana, greeting the familiar thrum of white glow around my fingers with longing of an addict denied pleasure for far too long. I have not used my powers for what felt like ages.  At my back, Fenris charges towards the other opponents, disabling them one after another.

It is so easy to lose myself in the rush and adrenaline, my fingers tapping against my armour to the indistinguishable rhythm of battle, as I avoid the many traps set for me by the Chargers, progressing steadily in Bull’s direction. One of a kind, dangerous dance. 

The distance was not far at all. However, the glyphs created by their mage, and the many projectiles thrown and sent my way force me to adjust my course by the second. With sudden burst of speed, I traverse the remainder of the gap between us, Fade Stepping at his back. I feel a vague shiver of pleasure that he manages to anticipate my attack, and without remorse, meet him head on. My anger sings to me, my desire for vengeance propels my movements, and I am more dangerous than ever.

I duck under the wild swing of his heavy weapon. It swishes above my head, as I Fade Step behind his back. And again. And again… I move faster than he can react, becoming a blur of constant motion, as I deal pin-point strikes that drain his strength and draw his blood. When I pause for a moment, my hands are bathed in crimson. In front of me, my opponent slumps down on one knee to support himself. He is breathing wheezingly, the loss of blood clearly making him dizzy.

He is outpaced by far, as much as I ever was against Fen. I look at the many tiny wounds I have dealt, bee stings; none of them serious but in mass just as deadly as bone shattering blows of his axe. I realize this is nowhere near enough to satisfy my need for revenge. Slowly, I make my way towards him, red trail of blood dripping from my fingers left in my wake. Iron Bull bends his head and closes his eyes in calm acceptance, awaiting the inevitable. Somewhere behind me, Fenris with Bethany have managed to force the rest of the Chargers into standstill.

‘What, in Sylaise’s name, is happening here?!’ exclaims Ellana from the stairs leading to the center building. I glance quickly in her direction, and realize that the noise must have broken up the war council, for she is flanked by her advisors. 

I do not deign Herald’s outburst with reply, stopping in front of the slumped figure of Qunari. Looking down on his calm features, ice freezes my heart, and I can hear Esme’s and Ebareth’s screams for his blood. Ellana’s presence is not enough to deter me from my goal, as I prepare myself to deal the final blow.

But Cole is, appearing by my side out of nowhere like he usually does. Somehow, little Compassion filters to the edge of my consciousness my posthumous promise to Valotaar. My resolve is immediately shaken as I remember the pledge I have made. The spirit does not speak, wisely perceiving I am beyond the reach of reasonable arguments, and instead forces me to recall my gratitude to the Arishok, and my guilt for failing to get him out alive.

And so I still my movement just short of Qunari’s throat. Iron Bull looks at me without flinching, into the eyes of his Death incarnate, completely disregarding my hand, red from his own blood, so close to his main artery I can feel his pulse, not at all rushed, completely even. I am begrudgingly awed by his complete tranquility, biting down on my lip, atypically for me indecisive. I have just told myself to discard all of the sentimental foolishness, and yet, here I am, unable to follow through with my own resolution.

Cole places his hand on my shoulder, and I sag into myself, withdrawing. There are other considerations in this case; more than just my revenge. I still need to sign the damn treaty with the Inquisition, and killing its agents is no way to encourage them to the alliance. No matter how temporary I plan to make it.

Reigning in my mana and extinguishing the glow over my fingers, I turn around and walk decisively towards the center of the courtyard. I do not mind turning my back on the Qunari - he is barely conscious, and even if he tried something, I have Cole to watch over me.

Ellana sharply orders medics to take care of the wounded Chargers. Some are quite  Fenris has but a few scrapes, and Bethany remains untouched; I am quite proud of their prowess, and nod with approval in their direction. They did good.

‘Well?’ The Inquisitor prompts me impatiently.

Shrugging, I reply evenly, ‘Ideological disagreement.’

‘You two have nearly killed one another… over something so simple?’ Her voice shakes with anger. I do not bother attempting to correct her, either on her over-charitable estimation of Iron Bull’s chances against me, or on her mistaken assumptions regarding the nature of our conflict. However, Cassandra is not one to remain silent in face of such blatant lack of understanding.

‘My Herald. The ideological differences are the most basic, and the most common of all frictions.’ Lady Seeker observes me carefully at me with a strange glint in her eyes, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword in clear warning. Aware of the widened in shock eyes around me, for a second, I am tempted to shake my head, showing off my silver mane in provocation. Yes, for the love of Creators, I am Quicksilver, can we move on?

But the impulse passes as soon as it appears, squashed by the icy indifference of her, or anyone’s, opinion. I have more important things to take care of.

‘Bethany, you will remain here; negotiate the contract. Watch your back, the damn Qunari might try something even in spite of his sorry state.’

‘Fean’Na!’ Bethany rises her voice in protest. ‘We were supposed to go over the treaty articles together! I do not know whether I have included everything you wanted, I haven’t done anything like this before! Please, just...’ 

‘I trust you.’ I cut her off mid-sentence, and disregarding her quiet fuming, I turn to my Executioner.

‘You, my Ghost, are off to Minrathous.’

He nods complacently, just as aware as myself that there must have been a traitor in our midst for this tragedy to happen. I firmly squash down the pain in my heart at the thought of one of my closest associates being involved with the enemy. Mourning or pain are luxuries I can’t afford influencing me at this moment.

Orders given, I start walking in the direction in my quarters. I have to wash off the grime and pack, departing as soon as possible.

‘And you?’ Fenris questions softly, and I pause mid-stride, considering whether I have anything to lose by answering. Deciding that he, and Minrathous, might use the intelligence, I reply measuredly,

‘First, to Antiva. I’ll get in touch with you once I have finished my business there.’

Fenris jerks uneasily.

‘Alone?’ His misgivings are plain for everyone to hear. ‘You can’t just  **go** without…’

My reaction is immediate, and near-unconscious, faster than I can think his words through. I Fade Step behind Fenris, and without hesitation, bring my fingers to his throat. It is only once their proximity draws a bloody line that I realize my hand is, once again, aglow.

‘You seem to have forgotten your place, Ghost.’ I purr menacingly. ‘No one tells me what I can or cannot do.’

He does have enough presence of mind to immediately drop in the half-bow to the ground, lowering his head before me.

‘Forgive me. That was out of bounds.’

I look down on him, some part of my mind whispering that I might have overreacted. Fenris had no intention of usurping my authority; he was merely concerned about my safety, like any good protector would be. With a sharp nod I accept his apology, and disregarding the deathly silence on the courtyard, walk away briskly. Time is of an essence, if I am to be successful.

Less than half an hour later, I am crossing the gates of Skyhold with all of the meagre necessities for the journey on my back. My mount is skittish, uneasy about riding after sundown, and wisely so; mountain paths can be treacherously unsteady. Unfortunately for the horse, I need to be at the nearest settlement by the morning; and if he breaks a leg, forcing me to discard him to the wolves - well, so be it. 

They have managed to clean up the courtyard after our short skirmish already, and Fenris mentioned to me in the passing that none of the Chargers have been mortally wounded, even if a couple will spend a few weeks in the healer’s tent nursing their wounds. I shrugged, not caring either way. They were the ones who started, so I felt completely justified; and no one in the Inquisition could really hold it against us. Bethany’s mission was unharmed, that’s all that counted.

With one last look, I say my goodbyes to Skyhold. It is hard to estimate when I’ll return to the fortress, if ever. I can see Fen looking down on me from the battlements. I must say, I have avoided him. I just didn’t really know what to say, how to explain my breaking the promise to him; again.

I console myself with the thought that I am not leaving him completely without assistance; and if, hopefully, the alliance comes to fruition, I will be able to move more of my people to deal with Coryphaeus.

The weather does not encourage travelling, the rainy season had begun. The roads are barely distinguishable from the plains, deep mud covering everything as far as I can see. Which is not far at all, the curtain of rain obstructing view. Horses get tired quickly, their hooves getting stuck in the soggy ground. Still, I push onwards, stopping more often in the taverns to switch mounts frequently and press on as fast as possible. I do not bother changing my clothes, they would have gotten wet back again; I simply persevere in the cold ones, sticking to my skin.

Regardless of the unfortunate conditions, I have a lot of time to plan my strategy. I go back and forth over the scarce information I’ve gotten from Nervlis’ letter, with every passing moment more certain of my conviction. There’s simply no other explanation; the Ben’Hassrath do not have enough reach, influence, to pull off an operation on such scale as the one in Rivain.

But with Crow’s assistance, they do. The silence from Mattern in the recent years suddenly gains a whole different meaning, and I begin considering how long have they been conspiring together.

Back in the day, we were pretty close knit bunch. A lot of our freed slaves went very willingly to Crows for training; wanting to get even with their former masters one day. Our alliance was tight, and we were both enjoying benefits of it. However, it had changed somewhat in the recent years. Even though still some of the people we have freed went there, the reception they have been receiving changed from enthusiastic to cold. They have been viewed with suspicion; and more than a few deceited to leave the training and return to us. I have sent letters upon letters to Mattern, requesting explanation for such treatment of our chargers; but I have received no response. He has been evading the meeting with me for four years, at least; and I have long reached out to our contacts within the Crows to observe his movements. Still, the alliance wasn’t officially broken; the reports have not indicated anything close to what actually happened.

He must have planned it for a long time. And Mattern must have had gotten approval from the rest of Crows’ council - as he had gotten older, the reins of power have begun slipping from his hands. Which means most of the higher Crows’ leadership was in on it - the task ahead of me is to determine who exactly and deliver their punishment.

My mounts steps become more steady, as he finally gains footing on the cobbled road leading to Val Royeaux. I take a deep breath and wipe away the raindrops from my eyes; the waterproof jacket can only help so much when the wind is against you. Determinedly, I force my shivering body to extend more effort, and force the tired animal into gallop. It is time to pick up pace.

I’ve got to hunt me some insolent birds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long delay. I hope the next chapter will come up in the next week, week and a half; I finally made some decisions how to progress with this.  
> Iron Bull was thiiiis close to dying this chapter.


	50. Deadly Pride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning:  
> This chapter contains disturbing scenes for those of active imagination.

**Deadly Pride**

The city of Antiva greets me with its usual street bustle; the merchants lauding their wares; matrons haggling down prices, and children laughing while playing in the back alleys. The carefree atmosphere is much different to solemn Minrathous or stuffed-up Val Royeaux; but I was never too comfortable with the levity of it. And now, most of all, I am not in the mood to deal with it.

Some of my testiness must translate into my face and aura, because I traverse the city unharassed by vendors or overly eager advertisers. They instinctively step out of my way, searching for a different target. It makes for the swiftest crossing of it I have ever made; aside from the one journey I made after nightfall.

I finally stop by a tavern in less savoury part of town. There are better establishments around - in much safer neighbourhoods - but this is the one that allows relative anonymity. I have decided from the onset not to rely on Wing’s branch here - there are, undoubtedly, many eyes watching the coming and going from there. And I am nearly certain a few had been placed on the inside, as well.

The success or failure of my vengeance depend on their lack of awareness of my presence here. I need to strike before they get a chance to prepare for my reckoning.

I take a time off during the first evening, submerging myself in hot bathtub to chase away the chill... and plot. It costed extra, most people in this district don’t care about cleanliness much - but I didn’t mind it in the least, sighing pleasurably as the stress began slowly fading, taunt muscles relaxing. I have nearly fallen asleep inside the tub, the exhaustion of the sleepless journey finally catching up with me. Barely conscious, I drag myself out of the gigantic wooden basin, and tumble into bed. With the last stretch, I use my magic to slam the door closed, and with the same gravity push, turn the lock.

I wake up after nearly twelve hours; not completely rested, but enough to get a start. With practiced ease I slip out of my room through the window, and onto the dark streets of the night. With the stubborn determination, I force my protesting muscles into run, finding my goal after only half an hour of lost meandering.

Biting my lip, I can’t decide whether I want to act immediately, or observe the situation for a while longer. After hesitating, I tell myself to play it by the ear and make my move. Sneaking into the darkened house, I take care to avoid the creaky panels on the floor, as I blindly search for the master bedroom of the house. This place has been arranged by Mattern for his favourite lover, and their only child.

The choice is taken off my hands, once I realize looking on the double-sized bed that the man must be spending the night elsewhere. I want to curse my own stupidity - favourite lover or not, Mattern would have never expose himself like that! The house is completely exposed, the only real defences being its relative anonymity. Even Wings had found out about it accidentally, and we were watching the man carefully.

Besides, I remind myself, it is rather debatable whether he is still interested in the girl or not; from the looks of it, it is the boy that Mattern cares for, not the mother. The room is not very luxuriously furnished, but I saw - barely avoided, at times - the many toys strewn on the floor.

I asses the sleeping female critically, deciding that she could have never posed any danger to me whatsoever. Her even breathing, and complete lack of awareness indicate lack of fighting skills; any trained warrior would have reacted to my presence long before, one way or another. Yet here she is, completely oblivious, looking every inch the fragile flower our research told us of her. With a slight shake of my head I fade back into the shadows of night.

My hunt will have to be postponed for a while.

Then again, maybe it is for the best. I realize I might have been overly impatient; in the end, randomly bursting like that could have just as well led to my own death.  Regardless of his recent retirement from active duty, the man is very, very dangerous. The duel would have been very evenly matched. Now, I can prepare the trap fully.

It takes me a few days, but once I feel sufficiently prepared, I break into the house again; this time much more openly, walking nonchalantly through the front door. Looking around, I note the decour, quite unassuming if slightly more luxurious than the neighbourhood would have warranted. One would expect a reasonably well-off merchant living here, rather than a master assassin. The toys spring out from many corners; judging from them, the boy must be about ten years, maybe a touch younger. The tranquility of the place and Mattern’s assurance of the security of his sanctuary make me sneer.

Undeniably Mattern was wise in his decision to protect his nest with deception and secrecy rather than guards. The latter would have drawn attention, and considering the calibre of his enemies, would have proven useless; in the end. Protection detail is much harder than assassination of the targets; it takes but a momentary lapse of attention of guards who need to be constantly vigilant. The assassin needs only choose his timing and method. I have dabbled in both; but I have always preferred disposing of people.

Still, the fact that there’s not even a single trap for me to avoid was rather careless of him. He certainly grew overconfident in his skills; or maybe reputation? Or maybe it is senility. He grew old. Comfortable. Rich. No longer hard pressed to earn his living, he has managed to forget old days when he was wary of every shadow.

And he has managed to forget the old vows and treaties as well.

My cursory inspection is interrupted by the owner, who enters the parlour in reaction to the door bell. She cries out and faints, seeing an armed stranger in her home. Dragging her senseless body to the chair, I have a few uncharitable thoughts about her fortitude. Really, did Mattern keep his business secret, or is she that unused to the reality? Her delicate hands suggest she hasn’t worked a day in her life; and with a frown, I consider whether she is a fallen aristocrat... or a former prostitute. She is beautiful and well-kept enough to be either; certainly it wasn’t her brains that attracted the man. Shaking my head with some exasperation with at my compulsive information hunt; I dismiss the random musings, once the final knots are tied.

I find the child in one of the rooms on the second floor, playing. I force-feed the boy a strong sedative, knocking him out for many hours; and afterwards carry him downstairs. Then I prick my finger to draw blood, and, with some minor mistakes - it has been a while since I’ve last done that - create a couple of glyphs on the walls and floor, covering them up later with paintings and rugs.

Blood is less enduring, but far more potent while binding magic. The problem is with timing, as the glyphs remain useable only as long as blood is fresh, and still binds and transmits the magic within. Which, in this weather, means I have less than twelve hours before they would need to be recreated.

But I am not worried, smudging the once-white walls with red. I will do whatever is necessary to ensure my advantages; but I feel it in my bones Mattern will come today.

Once I am finally satisfied, I open up the windows to air out the smell of blood. Sitting down in the armchair overlooking all entrances, I interlace my fingers on my knees, and wait.

Hours pass. The boy remains still on the couch, his chest slowly rising up and down in deep slumber. His mother regains consciousness, and begins sobbing quietly.  But since she makes no move to free herself from the ropes, I leave her as she is, wasting no more thoughts on her. In any case, even had she tried, it would have been futile.

Finally, the doors klick softly, and Mattern swaggers inside. There’s just the barest pause in his movement when he sees me, and his eyes quickly scan the room, taking in the situation.

With a delicate flick of hand, I activate one of the glyphs, and the doors shut behind him. I wave courteously in the direction of the free armchair opposite of me.

‘Please, feel right at home.’ Amused by irony of the situation, I smile coldly to myself. ‘Do sit down. I believe we have a little something to discuss.’

Mattern looks at me appraisingly, and sends a cursory glance to his lover, before leisurely following my directions. In spite of the obvious advantage I have over him, I still observe his movements carefully - I do not dare to be careless, not at this stage. He is like an eagle, watchful and flexing his wings, ready to take off and assault the enemy from above; the problem is, this time, his enemy is of a larger calibre than it is capable of taking down.

The lithe man sprawls over the other armchair, and straight looks at me, his eyes unblinking.

‘Now, now; there was nothing personal in this. Just business. We got a contract and we fulfilled it, that’s it.’ The leisurely drawl of his gives an illusion of calmness, but I know to the contrary. Mattern is by no means stupid; he would not have gotten where he is otherwise. Still, I state the obvious with a cool edge of steel in my voice:

‘I am making this personal. I take deaths of my people **very** personally.’

He shrugs indifferently, waiting for me to continue. I hold all the cards; I could have killed him the moment he came in.

‘I want to know who else was in on it; and their circumstances.’

‘And then you kill me.’ He notes with deceptive neutrality, and I do not bother trying to lie. Mattern is not walking out alive; both of us are aware of it. ‘Why should I tell you anything at all?’

‘Because that’s the only way your lover and child will live.’ I nod in the direction of the girl, anxiously following our conversation. Her eyes widen, and her beautifully caramel skin suddenly gains ashen shade, as fear grips her heart.

Mattern, on the other hand, remains nonchalant. He raises his eyebrow in disbelief, and laughs derisively.

‘You’re bluffing. You are far too **soft** to involve someone unrelated, innocent, into all this crap.’

I cross my arms, and straighten up. ‘Try me.’

‘Do your worst.’ He waves his hand dismissively. I feel a twinge of regret, another layer of my humanity discarded as I stand up. I walk to the young Antivan, who begins shaking. With instinctive awareness of a cornered animal, she looks at me; a quiet plea in her eyes. Unfortunately, I am unmoved, my heart devoid of sympathetic feelings; ever since I have heard of my people’s deaths all of these have been replaced by ice storm of raging fury.

I extend my hand, flexing my fingers while my mana answers to a light tug, and they begin glowing. Without moment’s hesitation, I pull her head back with one hand, and in one sweep movement cut it off with another. Her decapitated body sags against the restraints, blood splurting wildly, staining my clothes and the expensive carpets. Impassive, I turn around to face Mattern and throw the head under his feet. It bounces, blood still flowing from the severed neck, and he flinches slightly when it touches his leg.

He looks at her head with morbid fascination, before slowly raising his eyes to me. There’s an unwilling respect in his gaze, and I cross my arms, waiting for his response. Mattern swallows nervously seeing my completely unperturbed state, before questioning,  

‘How do I know you are not going to kill my son afterwards regardless?’

‘You don’t.’ My words cut cleanly through his delusions, like well-honed swords straight through his heart. ‘You can merely hope for my benevolence.’ I am aware that my crazed smile does not inspire confidence.

His eyes flash with desperation as he lifts himself upwards, but the words spoken seem to the contrary.

Let me to collect my documents.’

I do not allow myself to be deceived by his apparent submissiveness. Remembering that he is capable of anything in this state, I decide to completely dictate conditions of the encounter. I do not intend to leave anything to chance. With this in mind I deliberately leave an opening, turning my back on him for a second, taking a step towards the sleeping child; perfectly aware he won’t let the opportunity slip.

Sure enough, I can sense the sudden movement behind me. I calmly raise my fingers, coated in white, stopping the steel edge of his dagger short of my neck. He sighs with clear disappointment, his breath warming the skin on my back; before drawing a sharp breath. I feel a surge of satisfaction at this clear sign of magic taking hold on him. The thump of falling body behind me and a sizzle of power inform me that the gravity glyph under the rug got a complete hold over him. Mattern sends me a frustrated, full of undiluted hatred glare, fighting to stand up, as his body is forcefully pulled downwards. It is a losing battle, and soon, he draws heavy breaths, sprawled on the floor. I crouch down next to him, murmuring softly,

‘I guess you did not take me seriously enough. Well…’ I tap my chin in faux consideration, ‘I will have to make you change your mind.’ Brightening, I add with enthusiasm I do not feel, ‘But! I have heard that one can survive without an arm. I guess we will have to test that theory now, won’t we?’

I straighten up brushing my trousers with exaggeration, and decisively make my way towards the couch where the boy is sleeping. Without pause, I lift one of the arms and measure it, deciding where it would be easiest to make a clear cut. With a mental shrug, I call back my mana, and with a spark of white make a sweeping motion, when Mattern’s voice stops me.

‘Wait! Wait, I’ll tell you everything.’

‘I know you will.’ I twist my neck, smiling pleasantly. ‘But my patience with you is running rather short.’

‘No more tricks.’ He swears with a rugged, breathless honesty. I consider him for a moment, weighing whether he is truthful. Finally, I nod, and with a twirl of my finger release the spell holding him. Still, my trust is clearly conditional, as I sit down by the boy, and pet his cheeks in clear reminder of my advantage.

Mattern drags his feet to the desk, and taking out his quill, begins writing. I do not bother with further explanations of what exactly I need from him - he has been an assassin for his entire life. The awareness of the necessities for a successful mission is ingrained deep into his bones.

Once Mattern is done, he delivers the parchment to me. I take a cursory look at the detailed information on his closest associates, and lift my head, scrutinizing him.

‘If this is false, your boy will die.’ I inform Mattern, who nods his head in acknowledgement. He wouldn’t expect anything less.

Now that I have what I’ve come for, I do not waste anymore time, and in one sleek move, I stand up and pierce his heart with my hand. He chokes, drawing one last agonized breath, before falling down. A drop of blood leaves his open mouth, and I step over his body without care.

Sending one last look at the bloodied room, I say,

‘Goodbye, Crow Master. It was fun while it lasted.’

I do not concern myself with shock the boy will have, waking up near the bodies of his parents. My empathy is, has, completely shut down; I am incapable of any warmth. Tugging my cloak over my head, I return to the tavern, Mattern’s list clutched tightly in my hand.

With the most crucial part of my mission successful, I move to the high class part of town. Secrecy is no longer my main concern - Mattern’s death will soon be discovered, in any case. I can indulge in luxury; and my tired muscles could use a feathered bed.

It is only once I look in the mirror that the monstrosity of my actions catches up with me. I throw up, and spend a few minutes breathing heavily over the basin. Finally with resolute decisiveness I force myself upwards, and wash the grime off my face and remainder of blood of my hands. In the city of assassins no one paid much attention to it, but it is still sticky and disgusting.

My hands shake, and I look in the hollowed eyes of my reflection again, forcing myself to accept what I had done. Yes, I killed an innocent in cold blood. Yes, I was prepared to mutilate, and kill, a child to achieve my goals. And while nothing less would have convinced - no, broken - Mattern, forced his submission; I have to acknowledge my own actions. What I’ve become.

A murderer.

How much can one endure, how much suffering can one watch, before it begins affecting their mental fortitude? I know the line between madness and greatness is thin. I know, for me it began blurring years ago. I am drawing closer and closer to the edge, a point of no return. And I know, if I ever lose it completely, then Thedas will face a scourge unlike anything it has ever seen before.

But I would not have changed any of my actions today; even if they cross another line, another invisible boundary. I have shattered my conscience, and I know that next time when I have to make this decision, it will come much easier. Still. This is where my revenge has taken me; and I have no doubt before it ends, I will commit many more atrocities.

They will learn to fear me. They will walk, jumping at the shadows and nervously looking around them. And only once they’re driven to the brink of desperation, I will deal with them, delivering the pain they deserve for harming what was mine.

The haze in my gaze clears, as I stare at myself without blinking. Slowly the confusion is replaced by steel, my fingers clench around the sink and my resolution reestablishes itself. People died. People will die. By my hand. By my order. My responsibility, and my burden.

But then… I do not care anymore.

With one last look at my paled skin, I walk back into my room. After calling a maid to clean up the mess I left in the bathroom, I shrug off my clothes and fall into a dreamless sleep.

The list Mattern provided is very comprehensive; he even made notes of the degree of involvement in the mission of the people on it for my judgement. He really wanted this last act to get on my good side, I admit grudgingly.

At the very top of the list is one of the less known, for Wings, entities within Crows. One of the cousins of the King of Antiva, from the lesser branch of the Campana family; and the means by which the Crown is said to be communicate with its subjects. Mattern had strongly suggested that the final push had come from the Royal Family.

I bite my lip, trying to recall whether we had done anything to antagonize them. I do not think so, but then they could have simply felt uncomfortable with such large force running unchecked in their country. Especially ever since the Wings have started accepting run-away mages and templars; the King Fulgeno must have felt somehow threatened with one-third of the Mage Circles in Antiva emptying to join us, and the remainder involved in the war.

The influence of the Qunari in the affair could have been as subtle as pointing out the disadvantages while distracting from the possibility of retaliation; or as complicated as bribing advisors to push the weak King into this decision. Antivan’s plutocracy is very corrupt; and in any case it couldn’t have been hard to arrange.

I’ll make sure they get the message to leave us alone loud and clear.

This part requires much less preparations than what I have done for Mattern. The man might be involved with the Crows, but he is no assassin himself, and does not expect to be targeted. And I do not need anything from him. Finding out his whereabouts and favourite routes is no problem; I jump down from the rooftops and knock him out on the way from his favourite brothel. It is sending the message part that requires much more work.

For this, I finally reach to some of my Wings contacts. I smuggle the unconscious man onto the grounds of the Royal Palace, and after some consideration into the Chantry. The servants assisting me are completely terrified, and I shoo them away once I have reached the place - their nervousness will only lead to mistakes. I can do the last part by myself.

I carve out the a large wing on the entirety of man’s back. He regains his senses in the middle of the process, awakened by pain, but I disregard his squirming. My spells keep a choking hold on his throat to prevent him from screaming, and I continue with my work. I do have a morbid realization that the first time I have drawn in ages, my canvas is a human body.

Finally, satisfied with the effect, I cut the veins on his wrists and tendons to ensure he won’t survive the night, and with some effort hang him up from the extended hand of the gigantic sculpture of Andraste.

I remain on the grounds, wanting to see the commotion my actions have caused. By the morning, the blood dripping from the man has created a large pool of blood below. The first one to find the body is one of the acolytes; and she screams and faints promptly, shocked by the disturbing sight. I stretch my muscles, and rest my head on my hands, leisurely observing the events from one of the wooden beams below the high roof.

The guards react to the scream, and rush inside. They are clearly at a loss, uncertain how to act in regards to one of royal blood. Their indecisiveness lasts for so long, that the King himself arrives at the scene, clearly informed by one of his aides that something significant has happened.

He gasps faintly, and I smile, a wolf-like grin showing my teeth.

‘Take him down, immediately. No word of this can get out. Dear Romuald had overindulged in wine, and had a heart attack.’ Fulgeno commands quietly, but with the help of great acoustics I can still hear every word. I tilt my head, frowning, while one of his advisors protests.

‘My liege, we cannot let this insult go unchallenged!’

‘You idiot! Why do you think the body was found here, and now? It could have just as easily been left in the dark alley my Royal Cousin frequented during his illicit affairs.’ Fulgeno shakes his head disparagingly. ‘This is a warning, in response to our own actions. Do not wake the sleeping tiger.’ He draws breath, before continuing more calmly. ‘With Mattern dead, we have no **means** of effectively retaliating; the Crows will be in disarray for a long time, and I doubt this is the last body to be found. No, we cannot let our enemies know of our weakness. Let this end here, and now.’

I wonder whether he suspects that I am present; or merely counts on one of my spies to deliver the message. Still, his intentions are clear, and my goals have been achieved. His awareness of his own weakness is a refreshing dose of realism I hadn’t really expected from a Royal; but then his dynasty survived for over a century thanks to their flexibility.

‘Dispose of her.’ The King points in the direction of the unfortunate acolyte, while I lightly and soundlessly jump across the beams in the direction of the bell tower in the chantry. Climbing out of the window, look around, and jump down, before swiftly making my way outside grounds. It is much easier without unconscious body weighing me down; and I have no need of involving anyone to assist me.

My hunt does not stop just because two major figures have been removed from the board. In the next two weeks, one of the major merchants has his heart ripped out; a few other Crows from the Council lose their lives. One of my last targets, an Armada Captain who also happens to be a Qunari Spy within the Crows, ignites my wrath, and his house ends in bloodbath. I show no mercy, killing every last one member of the family, and his closest associates; but let the man live to suffer his losses, merely depriving him of his tongue, right hand, and right leg. Looking down on the quivering man, I say coldly,

‘Should you survive the fever of the blood loss, you will live. You will live to forever regret of ever getting in my way. See for yourself, whether your Qunari masters will do anything to assist you in need.’

As my last action, I set his ship on fire, to ensure there’s nothing he can pin his hopes on. I leave the man behind, silenced, crippled, and in pain. With no means to support his needs, I wonder offhandedly how long it will be before he kills himself to escape the unforgiving reality of his life. This is one of the last lessons I want to teach people in Antiva - there are much worse fates than death, and I will stop at nothing to avenge my losses.

I cross out his name from the list Mattern gave me, and scrutinize the last few names left there. Finally, I decide that I can leave these to Wing’s regular assassination squads, and with this done, I finally go to the Wing’s headquarters in Antiva.

The Wings there greet me with apparent relief - if a touch of apprehension. Of course, they were aware of my presence, the news of my terrible deeds travelling on the wings of gossip across many countries; and my hunt has lasted for over three weeks. It is no wonder they are slightly nervous, seeing the legendary slayer in their midst. I have always been respected within the organization; this new layer of fear is something I expected, if hoped to avoid.

The local division leader, Tuer, immediately shows me to the main study where a stack of reports awaits me. The first one catching my attention comes from Nervlis, and I immediately rip the envelope to check out the contents.

After Fenris arrived, Nervlis immediately ceded most of the duties onto him, and travelled to Skyhold to assist Bethany. With his help, the negotiations with the Inquisition have progressed nearly to the point of signing the treaty. They have agreed to our conditions of reducing the privileges of their Qunari allies; as well as to the general reduction of their influence. Their requests in return - the sharing of information and some military assistance - are exactly what I’ve expected, aside from the minor detail. Apparently, they are suddenly pressed for time and require official signing to take place in two weeks; and our support during the siege of Adamant Fortress in five.

I try to recall what I remember of Adamant, and why suddenly it had become such a priority. Nervlis himself is not quite certain, only that the Wardens have sided with Corypehous and are planning something sinister.

He asks whether I will attend the official signing of the contract - not even inquiring whether I agree to the conditions. I smile fleetingly at his certainty that I have no problems with the negotiated terms; he knows me so well. Truly worthy of being my second.

But then I frown, and consider his question. After a while, I smirk slyly, and pen a reply,

_‘I do have a few minor things to settle, but I fully anticipate being able to make it in time for the ratification of the tractat. Do inform our future allies of my intentions._

_Assemble our people to fulfil our promise of military support; anyone that can be spared. I want to awe them; I want to make them respect us; I want to make them fear us._

_You have my complete trust. Should the situation change, do as you see fit.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. Fean'Na went all out.  
> Sorry it took so long, but some scenes were a bit too much to write in one go. I had to carefully think this through; how to push my poor girl even further away from morality. Sorry if you do not like her anymore - but I wanted to write the more gritty details of the reality. Of how spying and assasination works. It is not pretty or romancized; there's no honour. All in all, often it comes down simply to murder, blackmail or bribery. A dirty, bloody business.


	51. Cunning Pride

**Cunning Pride**

I diligently work my way through the stack of reports on my desk. The next message is from Valeria, who informs of the status in Minrathous. As expected, they aren’t happy about our association with the Inquisition. Tessarian is doing what he can to lessen the suspicions on us; however, we need to establish our allegiances more clearly for him to succeed.

It is just as well I do have an idea how to achieve it.

The teams from Solas sent to scour the Wilds in search of the Venatori prison holding hostages have returned, recalled by the rallying orders, but what they have found so far seemed hopeful. They have narrowed down the target landmass to a more manageable area; and if my suspicions were correct then we are one step closer to finding them.

Dagna has sent report regarding the situation in Skyhold. In other circumstances, I suppose I would have found it hilarious. Alas, I am too focused on my revenge at the moment to appreciate the confusion I have caused…

_‘I must admit people here are even more astounded than myself. I knew Fea for years and never suspected a thing; and yet, for some reason, they believe they should have guessed the truth._

_My lady has provided us with a gossiping topic for months! The whole castle is buzzing with rumours, all places ripe with speculations. Of course, the most watched are Inquisitor and her companions; which allows me to relate their reactions faithfully even if I had not seen these for myself._

_Varric was apparently seen mumbling to himself whole evening in Herald’s Rest. Hawke just laughed at him._

_Lady Vivienne was rendered speechless - the servants were celebrating; they were not disturbed by her outrageous requests for a while. She remained so for almost two days, before she was back to normal. They remain forever in debt of your assistance._

_Sera had become my lady’s avid fan, again. She said that You ‘kick ass’; and that’s a direct quote here. The girl is unpredictable like a wind; constantly and randomly changing her direction._

_Dorian, is, well, being Dorian, I think? He behaves as if it had nothing to do with him. Which all of us know is not true. But I think my lady got him thinking; and finally he is starting to keep some distance from the Qunari. He went to see him only once; and briefly, too. Apparently your lectures about consorting with your country’s enemy gained a whole new meaning, now that he knows who You are, really._

_Cassandra shrugged the whole thing off. She said that she can understand your misgivings about unilateral cooperation without first understanding the causes of the Inquisition; and that clearly my lady understood now and that’s why the Wings are joining in. Her optimism - faith? - are, possibly, the most amazing in the whole Skyhold. I can clearly see the damage control behind Your directives; and I’m not even in touch with what’s going in Tevinter! I guess the reception cannot be very good, can it? No, of course not. Forget I asked._

_It’s not like my lady would have been compelled to answer, in any case._

_And again I’ve gone off-topic._

_I guess my lady will be happy - or not? In any case You would certainly want to know - that Iron Bull will completely recover from the injuries of the fight between you. His Chargers are also mostly back on feet, and only Skinner remains with the healers, his leg in the cast. Fenris treated him quite roughly… Then again, seeing as no one died, it was probably gentle of him._

_Is our Executioner getting soft?_

_The most affected were Ellana and Leliana. Leliana could not forgive herself for dismissing her initial suspicions about my lady- or so say her people. (Once again, being seen as completely harmless serves me well in gathering the information.) Josephine went to comfort her, once she had enough of, as she said, all of the sulking. They spent evening behind locked doors, and drunk unbelieveable amounts of wine - but the next morning, Nightingale was back to her old self._

_With Ellana, I do not think the problem is Your true identity, not really. She has been coming to the underforge quite often, talking with me. It’s strange - she shares her worries with me, in confidence... and here I am, relating them all to my lady. I feel… dirty. Worse than usual. It is her innocence, I suppose? She has managed to hide from the dark reality of this world thus far._

_She is disturbed by Solas. She has related to me the conversation they held with him about you. Leliana questioned him offensively whether he knew about your true identity. Ellana described his answer as calm and unaffected; almost flippant really:_

_‘I suspected. But Fean’Na never said anything, and I did not ask. Why should I question her? She has my complete trust. Whatever she chooses or chooses not to divulge, is between us. In any case, had she asked me to keep it to myself, I would have.’_

_‘And you did not feel it important enough to bring to my attention?’ Pressed irritated Leliana._

_Solas laughed._

_‘And how would I explain my suspicions? They were based solely on my knowledge of her character. Pride does not bow to authority well. It was hard to imagine her in the position she claimed to hold.’_

_They left him alone afterwards, dissatisfied. Ellana was very disappointed and disheartened. She confessed to me that she had hoped to have his confidence; that they were close enough for him to trust her with such matters. She was nearly in tears, after she has realized that was not the case; and Solas was as mysterious and mistrustful as ever._

_I think she went to confront him. Afterwards she came back and cried in her rooms. No one really knows what had been said; but when she came to the underforge, later, she said to me bitterly:_

_‘In the end, nothing I did made any difference.’_

_I do not know whether to label him cold hearted, when I look at Ellana’s heartbreak; or praise his loyalty to You, my lady. But know this - Ellana has no warmth left for my lady, or Wings._

_She remains depressed and apathetic; so much that Cullen had finally gathered his courage, and approached her. Ellana did not chase him away; and his presence manage to lift her spirits, make her smile from time to time. It is very sweet, his shy courtship; so tender Ellana is not even fully aware of the intentions of her suitor. I guess she is still too lost in her disappointment to see Cullen’s meaning clearly; and I do not think she anywhere near close accepting, and more so reciprocating, his feelings._

_The betting pool has gotten crazy, with all manners of speculations, regarding - forgive me for saying so, my lady - You and Solas (it is fairly obvious his rejection of Ellana has originated from your presence); Josephine and Leliana, and, of course, Cullen and Ellana. With so many interesting things happening around, and so many gossips flying around, it is a wonder anything gets done at all!’_

I snort somewhat derisively, picturing it clearly in my head. The Skyhold theatre, ladies and gentlemen, presents the newest installment of Inquisition Drama! I smirk at the mental picture, amused.

And Fen is, as usual, unbelieveable. He fended off the queries without as much as a hint regarding his true nature. From Dagna’s words, no one suspects there’s something amiss about him. Here I thought this coming to light would bring him trouble; and yet he used the childhood-friend mantle so well no one was any wiser. I have to bow down before my wolf’s superiority in deceit. My own disguise seems rather lacklustre in comparison; it had fallen apart so easily!

But there’s use crying over milk that had already been spilled; and I get a firm grip over myself, and return my attention to her words.

_‘Speaking of interrogations; Bethany was not spared one. She managed admirably, skilfully shifting the topic to the negotiations whenever they were pressing too hard. I do not think they’ve learned anything of value from her; and then Nervlis arrived and took some load off her. Apparently he cut down to the chase, bluntly pointing out Wings had no reason to trust Inquisition’s motives; and that with all assistance provided, the Inquisition had no cause to repine, in any case. So lay off._

_And they did, to my amazement. He can be very convincing; especially with the naked threat of abandoning the alliance hanging above Leliana’s head the issue was swept under the rug._

_With the perspective of another alliance, people are feeling more optimistic. Obviously, Iron Bull is surly over the whole issue; but other than that, everyone seems satisfied. Your presence here has done wonders for Wings’ reputation; and even after being found out, while there were some hurt feelings over the deception, no one tried to question your expertise._

_We all eagerly await your return; if for no other reason, to see the confrontation between my lady and the Herald._

_I remain loyal in your service,_

_Dagna’_

Her letter brightens my mood somewhat, even if the information-wise it is rather poor intelligence; more akin to gossip. Still, there are a few things of value, and it had been entertaining - so I do not intend to chastise Dagna for it. Truth to be told, I am regretful that I cannot fully immerse myself in it; after bathing myself in blood, it feels inappropriate.

Since I am in the vicinity, I use the opportunity to visit Bianca. I march to the blindingly white marble of the Merchant’s Guild imposing headquarters in Antiva, where she is usually residing. Some visitors are overwhelmed by the stiff lines and sharp architecture, but for me the place was never uncomfortable. Rather, I feel nostalgic, it brings to my mind the ethereal Arlathan in its glory. This building was the only one somewhat close in colouring to these old structures; missing only the green tint of Fade pumped into every nook, every crease and every stone of the city. And dwarven architecture, while more bulky, somehow manages to convey similar impression of perfection.

At the sight of me, Bianca raises from her seat with concealed wariness. She needn’t have bothered; I can see through her, and my heart sinks. Still, it is only courteous to make an effort and pretend I did not. So I force a pleasant smile on my face, asking,

‘How are you recently, oh-genius-inventor?’

As I intended, the ridiculous title makes her snort, and her vigilance drops down a notch. Not wholly; I guess the news of my bloody exploits are not an easy thing to just… overlook. I knew that before I had begun my crusade… But her caution hurts no less.

‘Inventing, what else? There’s no other use for me.’ She waves for me to sit down, and rings for refreshments. An efficient servant appears quietly from the backdoor, gone again in mere seconds without making a single sound. I purposefully take the wine he left on the table, fully intending to drown my sudden resentment for her. I can’t really blame her for the instinctive reaction; in fact, I should thank Bianca for the reminder.

There’s no one who would accept the murderous side of me without misgivings.

Still, I am bitter; unable to feel gratitude for the unwanted reality check.

Pursing my lips, I down the wine quickly, and reach to bottle for a refill. Bianca observes my actions without comment, and then clears her throat to get my attention once my glass is, again, full of red liquid.

‘It is a lucky coincidence you have caught me; I’ve just returned from Skyhold.’

‘Whyever would you go there?’ I ask with some astonishment, not looking into her eyes lest she sees my inner irritation. Instead, I tilt my glass, noticing the way light from the chandelier casts reddish reflexes on the floor and my hands. I nearly drop it in shock, noticing that from certain angle it looks like blood - but then I reaffirm my grip, with grim determination deciding not to run away from mere impression. My hands had blood on them but a couple days ago; I am deeply aware of the difference between illusion and reality.

‘I had a business to conclude in Hinterlands; and I’ve decided to drop by an old acquaintance.’ She plays with her own glass, twirling the wine with a lost expression on her face. Suddenly, a piece of puzzle clicks in my head, and I begin comprehending the story between her and Varric. A bittersweet situation; not only they have to continue interacting through the Guild, but also, they are both clearly unable to let go. I feel a degree of pity for Bianca’s husband - but I do not dare judge her on her infidelity. Creators know I have not been kind to June, even after pledging myself to his side. While I have never actually done what Bianca did, I have never, even for a moment, considered him first. Maybe I was actually more cruel than her; I did not even provide June with an excuse to hate me.

I do not dare judge; but neither do I have much compassion for her plight. It is in her hands to resolve her conflicted loyalties; keeping the situation hanging does nobody any good. Like a rotting wound - if one does not cut out the disease, it will spread, infecting other organs. Spread and spread, until it incapacitates; until it kills the bearer.

I do not tell her this, either. Bianca is wise enough to know it herself. If she still cannot bear to part with either her position, or Varric - then she is not ready to make such decision. I only hope she will be before it’s too late.

‘I do have a gift, however. A compensation for the incident.’ A couple of years back, Bianca was kidnapped in Kirkwall by Carta. I was in the vicinity, and led a rescue mission. I have waved off her gratitude, laughingly stating that I do not charge my friends for doing what was only natural.

Bianca did not agree. That’s why she gave me lyrium-laced throwing knives; a half-measure, she told me back in the day, promising to come up with something better. I had completely forgotten about it.

Come to think of it, she has never really explained why was she in Kirkwall, in the first place. Now, I have an inkling of what - who - was an answer for that question.

I shake off the sudden revelation, and reply,

‘I doubt even your genius can help my atrocious aim. Even your marvelous knives I use only at close range; and mostly as a distraction.’ I do not like admitting defeat but I have long accepted that in this instance, I am a hopeless case.

‘You are underestimating me.’ Bianca smiles with pride and opens one of her drawers, placing a small box in front of me. It is no larger than my hand, and I open the container with curiosity. Within, I find a thin string, glowing strangely - the slightly greenish light is thrumming unevenly, stronger and weaker in regular intervals. Almost like a pulse. I thoughtlessly reach out to it, feeling rather stumped - this was certainly not what I’ve been expecting - and hiss, cutting my finger on careless touch. It is extremely thin, and thus, very sharp.

‘Careful.’ Bianca warns me, just a moment too late. Glowering, I cross my arms, waiting for an explanation. But I heed her words, not attempting to examine the thing anymore.

‘I have been working for years on the solution to your problem.’ She stands up and walks to the window, continuing, ‘Basically, it all boils down to your inability to adjust to the behaviour of the target moving in the distance. You can shoot stationary targets relatively accurately… With enough practice. Thus, I have created a weapon which, theoretically, should change direction and move according to your will, allowing you to compensate for the initial misjudgements in targeting.’ She nods in the direction of the string.

‘Theoretically?’ I question her doubtfully. She shrugs, replying,

‘We have tested it with our mages - it works. The problem is precision; the people I am working with are simply not that proficient in manipulating the pure mana, not condensed in a form of exact spell.’

‘Aura, you mean.’ I murmur in clarification, looking at the unassuming string in amazed wonder. She tilts her head,

‘As you say. Aura.’

‘How is it possible?’ More careful this time, I pick up the thin fiber, stretching it between my hands and pulling, checking its endurance. It is metallic, but remains flexible, and does not snap, instead cutting my hands again as I put more pressure on it. Bianca stands up with a resigned sigh and takes a first-aid box from the shelf.

‘Notice the unusual metal? It’s lyrium.’ She explains, efficiently disinfecting and bandaging my cut hands. I consider her answer, and ask suspiciously,

‘Bianca, you did not, per chance…’

‘You guessed it. This is a refined and purified red lyrium.’ Bianca confirms my guess without much concern. ‘I have long had an idea of something along these lines, but lyrium mixed with steel was simply too fragile for practical use.’ She pauses, while I collect my thoughts.

‘That was a huge risk you took.’ I note reproachfully. She shrugs, unabashed.

‘I took appropriate safety measures. Regardless, this one is no longer blighted, and I have solved the issue of durability. In fact, after quenching, it is unbreakable - or at least, I was unable to find the stress necessary to break it. Unfortunately…’ Bianca sighs with some frustration, ‘the whole thing turns out to be useless in terms of more wide-spread usage.’

‘Why?’ I prod the sharp string with my finger again curiously. The advantages of unbreakable material ought to be many, and varied; even if the production process is risky.

‘Not only the refinement is unbelievably time consuming and produces small amounts of useable material… Without regular contact with mana it loses its properties and starts crumbling.’ Bianca heavily slumps back on the chair. ‘It would be useless for anyone but mage. And mages have no real reason to use such tools, with their magic compensating for everything.’

But for a blind mage, incapable of creating more complicated spells… My eyes glitter and I look at the unassuming silver strands again.

Bianca sighs again, also glancing on the string. ‘So, I have fashioned this for you - but there are drawbacks. Firstly, the precision is an issue. Secondly, it cuts through any material with the right application of force - which means if your control slips even for a second, the part which is attached to your hand will cut through you. And you need to have a skin contact with it to enhance conductivity of the mana - or at least that’s what the mages doing the tests told me. Finally, you need to feed it some mana once every two weeks or so; it will grow brittle otherwise.’

‘So you’ve made me something that is unbelievably hard to use, requires constant extreme caution or it could well cut off my arm just as easily as my enemy’s and is really useless to anyone but myself?’ I summarize her words incredulously.

‘Basically. I think it suits you to perfection.’ Bianca smirks at me with challenge in her eyes, and I grin wolfishly, possessively grasping the box.

‘You are right. It does.’ I smile blindingly at Bianca, excitement singing in my veins. There are infinite possibilities with this new toy I have received, and I can’t wait to try it out.

Afterwards, our conversation strays back to our usual business. Bianca reports the successes with gatlock and together we decide that after some amount of antidotum was produced, further work will be suspended. We exchange other news as well, or at least what we can share, avoiding topics which could be considered classified within our respective organisations. She also, with a mocking smile, confirms Dagna’s words about reactions in Skyhold regarding my identity.

‘I have to say, Lady De Fer’s reaction was the most entertaining of them all.’ Bianca’s eyes glitter, as she recounts. ‘She wavered between denial and disbelief, until deciding to ignore the issue altogether. But then, there was also the witch Morrigan, who was pretending that she wasn’t surprised by the revelation at all, while clearly sharing Lady De Fer’s outlook. I wish I could see your reunion with these two!’

‘Creators preserve me.’ I snort derisively. Bianca salutes me with her drink, laughing.

I leave soon afterwards, slightly uncertain in my steps, but my mind still clear and sharp. I unconsciously fiddle with the small box in my pocket, containing the new toy given to me by Bianca; I already know it will prove immeasurably useful, once I master it.

Next day I spend shopping, replenishing my supplies which I then direct to Skyhold. The luggage should reach the fortress just before my expected arrival. In the evening, I practice with the lyrium string, quickly discovering it is just as tricky to wield as Bianca warned. Even infused with mana, it reacts more like a whip than an actual extension of myself, the way I expected it to. I can manipulate it at a distance; but it requires a lot of concentration. I strongly doubt I could ever deal both precise strikes in the distance as well as effectively fight at close range. It is simply too much at once - one awareness distracts from another. However, I could use the string to deal initial strike, or use it at medium range by combining my blinking ability with its cutting strength to envelop my foes in it, and deal a final blow right afterwards.

The possibilities are limitless; in fact, I am the one limiting the weapon. By the end of these barely two hours of testing, my arm is bleeding from multiple cuts from when my consciousness of the string dropped, and it sunk into my flesh. No armguard of any kind proved effective; just as the dwarven smith said. The damn thing went through everything like knife through butter, even through the double-hardened steel.

It did not stop my exhilaration. I wiped off the crimson from my skin, bandaged the cuts, and went back to training.

The following morning finds me hopping onto my mount and departing in the direction of Val Royeaux. I travel whole day, and stop by one of the more popular inns - popular for spies. Knowing my appearance will be reported, I pretend not to notice the curious yet wary glances sent my way and settle for the night.

And again, I travel in the expected direction - but only for two hours. On the wide plains, I stop and look around me, checking for watching eyes. Seeing the empty grassland far and wide, I prod my horse off the trail, and set off northwards. To Rivain.

Four days before the official signing of the treaty, I cross the gates Seere and head to the Wings branch quarters here. There are clear signs of disarray in the tavern and vicinity; clutter in the backyard and people moving rapidly with clear agitation. The death of their direct superiors hit them hard. Regardless, at the sight of me they spring forth in crisp salutes and respectfully stiffened postures. I dismiss the formality with a casual gesture, and after some fidgeting, a youthful redheaded man speaks up from the crowd,

‘We had not expected your arrival, my lady. Forgive us for the lackluster reception.’

‘Relax; I do not require you to be clairvoyant. You weren’t supposed to know of my arrival. No one was.’ I reply calmly, and a sigh of relief can be heard from the gathered, as their postures finally relax. ‘And actually, I would prefer if you kept it quiet for a few days.’

It would make my task infinitely easier if my enemies did not expect me. I made my movements known on purpose; I declared I will attend the signing of the treaty on purpose. I have never intended to do so. My task remains unfinished until all of those responsible for my people’s suffering pay. And I will not find them in the south.

With this resolve, I direct the people is Seere to prepare for an expedition. It does not take a lot for a strike team to prepare; they have always lived in the shadow of Kont-aar. Esme and Ebareth kept them well-trained and constantly prepared for an assault, although I doubt any of them ever expected we would be the ones assaulting.

We also round up some of the gaatlock stashed here - because I have been producing it, ever since we’ve left the shores of Par Vollen. Unfortunately, the crucial resource, saletra, is very scarce on the continent, and used in many other recipes as well; and therefore highly contested. And I can’t very well say that I need it for an explosive and thus lay claim on all of the small production from the occasionally found small springs.

We travel by night, avoiding the main roads and skirting on the edges of settlements. As usual, surprise is our biggest weapon. The Qunari do not, cannot, expect an attack in such circumstances. The Seere Wings have lost their leaders and are in mourning, still shaken by the loss. Also, a bit fearful for their own fate. It is hard to imagine less favourable circumstances for any action to be taken.

But they do not take into account one factor. Me. I easily convert the fear and grief into furious anger, almost comparable with my own. It gives my people courage. Motivation to avenge the loss.

At the darkest hour of the night I climb the wall. It is in pristine shape, not allowing for any support; but this is where Bianca’s thoughtful gift comes into play. I swing it with my mana upwards, and hook it onto a window crate. Climbing while relying on a thin metal string is not a pleasant experience, and in the end my hands end up with many slight cuts - each after a slight drop in concentration - but it is completely worth it. Feeling triumphant, I slip onto the inner side of battlements and drop down the rope for my Wings, lying in wait.

‘Leave no one alive.’ I order calmly, and my demons of vengeance spread in many directions, quiet and deadly. By the time alarm finally sounds it is much too late, the patrols killed, the armory controlled by us. The following carnage is brutal and ruthless. Faithful to my words, my Wings spare no mercy for those within the walls of the fortress - servants, females, mothers. Even the few children, born away from Par Vollen.

In the meantime, I tackle the largest hurdle - the keep. Fighting ferociously my way inside, I have only one goal in mind - the records. I want to get my hands on them, I want to get a hold on this wealth of knowledge of their agents, which is collected here and copied to be sent to Par Vollen.

I encounter the fort commander there. I know I must look a fright - blood dripping from my fingers, splattered across my armour and face, even my silvery hair dyed with ruby streaks; yet he recognizes me.

‘You.’ He spats. ‘You are not supposed to be here.’

My eyes flash at this confirmation of the spies observing my movements.

‘And yet I am.’ I note mockingly, my eyes drawn to the volumes upon volumes of reports stuck on the library shelves behind him.

‘This is where you will meet your end!’ The horned man bellows, charging at me with drawn sword effectively distracting me from my goal.

The fight is by no means easy, especially since my mana reserves have been a bit worn down during the past half an hour. I narrowly avoid one of his swings, jumping on the table and balancing on one leg while whipping the silver thread in his direction. But my concentration is lacking, and instead of hitting his eye it merely grazes his cheek. I am forced to roll down, and kick his knee in passing under another strike of his. He stumbles, and in frantic gamble I imbue my glowing hand in his throat. His eyes protrude, and he gurgles unintelligibly, falling unfeelingly on the floor.

I breathe heavily, looking at his dead body without full comprehension for a while. I have been pushing myself to the brink of endurance, recently, without enough rest to make up for it. I will need a couple of days to get back in form.

I glance at the wide collection behind me with a triumph. Such a treasure! The loss of these will deal a huge blow to the Qunari.

On shaky legs I go to the bookcases, and stop by the Tevinter section, drawn by curiosity. However, the moment I pick up a few tomes to look over, an explosion down below shakes the tower.

Instinctively understanding that I have no time, I go to the window and look down. With my scarce mana, the fall would be deadly… Another explosion shakes the foundation of the building. And another. Having no other choice, I reach to Bianca’s string and call what remains of my magic to send it to another tower.

As I fall supported merely by thin silvery thread, the last couple of explosions crumble the tower behind me.

The impact of the fall cuts through my arm, nearly severing it for I had barely enough mana to absorb the string’s pressure. Since I am completely drained my shoulder takes on the brunt of downwards gravity force, dislocating with a loud snap. The pain of torn muscles tears up my eyes, my vision blurs. Blindly I let go of the thread and tumble down gracelessly, falling flat on the stony courtyard. My heart beats frantically, and I note with relief that I'm still alive. I can hear the worried voices of my people closing up on me as I lose consciousness.

I wake a few hours later; the wounds on my arm bandaged and my shoulder set. The few tomes I have saved are by my bedside, a bit bloodied but otherwise undamaged. The Wings are gathered around, respectfully awaiting my directives.

With a slight groan I force myself up, and looking down on the coastal fortress, order coldly,

‘Blow it all up.’

There’s more than enough gaatlock in the storage to make it possible. My people work efficiently; we depart from the area before midday, less than twelve hours after the whole operation had begun.

I turn around one last time, looking at the smoking ruin with grim satisfaction. I was supposed to be at the treaty conference, yesterday. If everything went according to the plan, the damn thing was signed.

And even if my absence derailed the final signing, it was still worth it; it provided a good distraction.

Kont-aar will still be nothing but rubble and ash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do have a few things to announce.  
> Firstly, I will be going on vacation at the end of next week. Which means a lot of stuff I have to do at work; and then I am going to a remote location without internet which means no chapter will be posted for at least two, more likely three weeks. Sorry; but remember it does not mean I am abandoning this piece.  
> Secondly, I have decided to make this story only until the end of Inquisiton. By my estimation, about 10 chapter. No, not all questions or plots will be resolved by then - I am also considering a sequel. If there's enough interest, I will continue with this.  
> Finally, I am in the middle of rewriting Pride and I'll repost it as a three part saga; everything before Wings; Wings part; and Inquisition. I am still very much in progress with this; but hopefully I will be done by the end of this year. I am planning quite a few additional scenes, I suspect only Inquisition arc will remain largely unchanged ^^.


	52. Ruthless Pride

**Ruthless Pride**

My shoulder is still hurting when we get back to Seere. It is discomforting, having my arm bound by the sling. I feel constricted and uneasy, aware of my increased vulnerability. While my studies of magic and my fighting style made me generally ambidextrous, truthfully I am more comfortable while using my right arm to do most of stuff. Which is. In a sling.

My frustration with temporary disability makes me prickly and the Seere Wings take care to avoid my biting comments. I channel these feelings into practice, constantly toying in one way or another with Bianca’s gift. In the back of my head lingers certainty: had I been more proficient in its usage, I would have had no injuries at all. Or at most, a strain, I allow grumpily, glancing down at the useless limb bouncing against my torso.

In the meantime I also sort out the subservience and leadership issues. After delegating a couple of tasks to keep people busy, gloom and grief are partially forgotten. It will take time to bury Esme and Ebareth not only in body, but also in mind, but the first step to recovery has already been made.

With this I feel my tasks in the area have been accomplished. Thes, the new division leader is still wet behind her ears, but my constant hovering will do her no good. In fact, currently my absence would be most beneficial; she needs to establish her authority over the agents here. Mindful of this I depart quickly, even though my wounds are yet to fully heal.

Having only one functional hand becomes troublesome in unexpected ways. Disrobing and washing up of any kind suddenly become insurmountable challenges, and with a grimace I hire inn attendants to assist me. This sort of dependence makes me even more irritable, and I channel it all into constant practice, else I begin striking out against people at random. Suggestive comments and helpful advices at taverns from the leery men do not help the issue.

Bianca has given me more than she could possibly realize. The silver string is more than just a tool – although it is that, too. And damn useful one. But more importantly, the focus poured into strand helps me in avoidance of my guilt, unresolved inner conflicts. I might have accepted my own cruelty whenever I deem it necessary, but that does not mean embracing it. Truthfully, I am running away from it, even in my thoughts. And the constant attention required while handling lyrium weapon is a constant reminder, because the smallest slip causes bleeding wounds, which sting enough to get my attention.

I travel to Minrathous, which is not exactly on the way to the Adamant, but I still have some time to get there. I deliver to Tessarian the few things I’ve managed to grab from Kont-aar – after, of course, our archivists create copies. From what I’ve gleaned, these papers expose a few well-positioned merchants as agents of the Qun within Empire, and hopefully, will be enough to convince Radonis of our – speaking in generalities – loyalty to Tevinter. The last year has been stressful on Magister Lucanus, his shoulders are hunched and his age has rapidly caught up with him. But burdens did not extinguish the bright spark of intelligence from his eyes, and his mind is as quick as ever. I can see he has questions for me, but they remain unspoken as we exchange our parting well-wishes. Tessarian knows I wouldn’t have replied.

It is eerily quiet in our underground headquarters. Emptied of people, only a handful Wings have remained to keep an eye on things. Activity in most areas has been completely halted, Nervlis wisely ordained not to expose our lacklustre numbers to competitors. I drop by Tasha, left behind as overseer. She was the most logical choice, since her children are far too young to be dragged to a battlefield. Nonetheless I am surprised that she was left with no backup at all. Even Riv and Valeria, the two most oft left behind, have been taken along.

‘Fenris did it on your orders, though…?’ Tasha expresses her astonishment at my inquisitiveness in regards to that. I can hear the unasked question in her tone, and shrug neutrally.

‘You know I leave him a degree of freedom when it comes to…’ I trip, swallowing nearly said out-loud words. I cannot chase away the morbid play on double-edged meanings: **executing his tasks** from my mind, and pause mid-sentence awkwardly. Tasha notes it with a raised eyebrow, as I finally find my tongue back again and finish, ‘his missions.’

‘Ah.’ She sighs dejectedly, and I know I hadn’t fooled her. Sadness crosses her features, and I can’t say whether it’s because she was reminded of our friends' deaths, or because of the upcoming one.

‘Well, you’ve been doing a good job here. I am going to rest for tonight, and depart tomorrow. I’m hoping to catch up with Ryanth before they reach Nevarra.’ I walk away briskly, sparing both of us further discomfort. A wordless rejuvenation spell penetrates my aura as I walk through the doorway, easing the soreness of my limbs; but she does nothing to stop me. As the doors close behind me, I slump against the wood for a moment, sighing. We used to be pretty close, years back, and Tasha did not hesitate from expressing her honest opinions. Then. And now we cannot even console each comfortably. There’s a distance between us; I am her leader, and she is one of my chiefs. An insurmountable barrier.

I’ve been aware of the slow shift in perception among my companions, but now it hits me with strength. I am no longer merely their friend; I am now a person who can give them orders they are ready to die for. When we had each other’s back, facing adversities together with our Wings merely nine in number it was much different. I miss those days… I miss the person I used to be.

I leave Minrathous in haste, running away from unwelcome realizations and ghosts of the past. There’s a haunting cognizance that I can’t outrun reality, and all of these will remain for me to deal with at a later time… But I have grown proficient at hiding from uncomfortable truths; regardless how much of a hypocrite that makes of me. Pride, I am called. Ha. If only they knew how much of it is empty posturing…

I encounter Ryanth with the last dispatch of Wings halfway through Nevarra; a couple of days later than I intended, but I have strayed out of the way to visit Mausoleums in the capital and get a hold of the latest news.  My actions have created waves, and are spoken of in hushed voices and degree of cautiousness.

I detest desert with as much vehemence as the first time I came here. Scorching heat with little to no shade, and thus no opportunities to escape the unrelenting sun. A dry air with gusts of wind which instead of soothing, only dehydrates one further. It also brings dust, which chokes throat and gets everywhere.

On my suggestion we travel mostly at night, and find refuge from the sun in canyons during the day. It forces us to climb down and then back up daily and slows us down some, but it is well worth the effort. Ryanth sends me uneasy glances, clearly brimming with unanswered questions, but he does not ask, and I do not feel generous.

The scouts see the tracks left after the Inquisition’s army, and we discern that the column cannot be far away. The trails left behind vanish quickly on the desert. We are finally catching up with them, their force slowed down by the war machines and supply wagons. Since there’s nothing to forage or hunt on the desert – or at least not enough to warrant attention – they would have been forced to bring a lot of food with them. I issue orders to return to more or less normal day and night cycle, with earlier mornings, later evenings and long break mid-day to avoid the worst hours.

The red on the skies begins to darken when we see the back guard of the moving army. They’re under attack, and there’s no time for pleasantries – with a forward gesture I order the Wings by my side to charge.

Clearly they’ve been ambushed, demon and Venatori forces attacking from the back and sides in a well-coordinated assault. By my side Ryanth chants, drawing in front of him quick defensive sigil, reaching to his Templar knowledge. Blinding light springs forth, and demons assaulting the back guard falter for the crucial few minutes. And then there we are, quick death from above, since we jump off elevation to join the fray.

For human enemies the string is useless in the middle of battle, requiring too much precision and concentration to direct properly; or alternatively a lot of strength to cut through armour which I do not have. But for demons it is perfect, lyrium decimating their unnatural bodies with ease.

I flay the string across to the side, and pierce through a lesser demon while twirling out of reach of a Tevinter blade. A crazed look crosses the eyes of my opponent, and he wears begins glowing. Foulness, a feeling of wrongness washes over me and instinctively I recognize the red lyrium etched into the steel plate. I shudder, and jump further away from him. I do not want that touching me, ever. Recalling my string with a thought, I swat off-course a throwing knife aimed at me. The dance just got more complicated, I realize with sudden excitement. Getting into rhythm with a string is more challenging than with merely my body, coated in aura.

The heavy armed opponent was challenged by one of Wings’ Templars, and I decide to focus more on demons rather than the Venatori. Jumping across the battlefield, I entwine unnatural foes in silvery web and then pull it right through their bodies. They explode in a mass of dark gore, pierced into countless pieces and melting away, denied existence on this side of the realm. I do not fully realize when I have made my way through to the main group, where Nervlis and Fenris made their stand with remainder of Wings. Valeria holds higher ground with other archers and mages not far away; but their usefulness in this conditions is limited.

‘You are late’ greets me a grumble from Fenris, just as he impales one of the Venatori with his humongous sword.

 ‘Here I thought my assistance would be appreciated.’ I snark back, swinging my lovely toy over the neck of a large pride demon. Fade stepping behind its back, I wrap another layer of silver around him, and crossing my arms in front of me, pull. The ugly ‘splat’ can be heard, as the severed limbs fall on the ground, before disintegrating into a disgusting pool of ooze. I wipe off a trickle of black off my face, and sneer. I sincerely hope there’s an oasis somewhere in the vicinity, or the whole lot of us will smell… interestingly until we conquer Adamant.

‘So who screwed up and didn’t have a backup plan prepared for this perfect ambush spot, leaving our vulnerability exposed like a lamb to be slaughtered?’ I ask conversationally, jumping to Fenris’ side and trying to look menacingly. Of course, I am not half as convincing as the white haired elf with lyrium glow… But my sudden appearance is enough to make the enemies pause for a moment.

‘Actually we had a counter plan… which was supposed to turn it into opportunity and weaken Wardens… before we even got to the fortress.’ Nervlis is heaving as he pulls out his dagger out of another corpse. Our enemies are suddenly invigorated for an unfathomable reason, and the standstill ends.

‘I see it’s gone off without a hitch.’ My bland tone does little to hide the sarcastic note of my statement as I dodge a swing of a large poleaxe; but my lack of focus on the fight causes it to graze over my light armour. Fortunately, it and my aura are enough to stop it from actually cutting the skin, but it’s a reminder to pay attention. With a sudden movement I grab onto the wooden  shaft and pulling at it strongly I make the opponent stumble in my direction. Twirling to sidestep his fall I reach with one of my hands to his neck in a smooth motion, and leave him lying in a pool of blood from a severed artery. Next to me Fenris dashes forward and in a swooping motion chops off two heads in a single strike. Nervlis on the other hand has, apparently, run out of a throwing knives already, so I swiftly pull off my set and throw it to him. I have better tools at my disposition now, even though I still bring them along as a precaution. 

‘It was actually going pretty well… before things went South.’ Counters my second calmly attaching the knives to his belt, and I am about to ask for clarification when an ear-deafening roar pre-emptively answers my questions. I lift my head and with slightly raised eyebrow watch the dragon-like abomination descend from the skies, and rain fire on our carts of supplies. The mage barrier manages to hold, for the moment, but it is clear unless something is done there will be trouble. With a capital T.

I tsk with disapproval, while swinging my string around the freshly summoned demon in front of us, only just forming. I barely give him? or her? let’s settle on it; time to materialize before I pull it into its demise.

‘Not accounting for stray…’ I glance at the fast-moving, fire spewing shadow in the clouds. ‘Or not so stray dragons is a beginners mistake! You were supposed to be a congregation of the greatest warriors and planners on Thedas, how come an overgrown lizard somehow threw a wrench into everything?’

‘I do not think it’s actually alive! Calling it a lizard is a stretch.’ Shouts Fenris from behind us, and when did he get there? This is why I absolutely detest such battles – too many people. Keeping track of my surroundings while so many elements shift and move is nigh impossible. They limit my already severely limited movement. For a light-weight like me who can’t take a direct hit, it is a lifeline I’m lacking. My fighting style requires plenty of movement since it focuses on dodging and out speeding an enemy. It makes me completely unsuitable to fight at the frontline – and I’ve never done that before. I was always part of the ambush or scouting groups during the Crimson March, who never engaged the enemy head on; and I’m displeasingly reminded why it is a bad idea.

Well, since I do not have a choice, the best I can do is survive.

‘Undead or not, lizard is a lizard.’ I shout back at Fenris who spares me a glare before returning to his power contest with an encased in steel warrior.

‘Not this time, Quicksilver.’ Nervlis denies. ‘A normal dragon would create some mess, but it wouldn’t be that much of a deal.’ He suddenly lunges forward and slashes off fingers of his enemy, who screams and drops his sword. ‘This one is much more intelligent and even more resistant to magic than usual dragons; not to mention we do not know what would happen if we actually killed it. What if it spread blight around?’

So we are doing a whole lot of nothing and let ourselves get pounded in the meantime? Somehow I do not think it is the best plan all around. Although I am fairly certain Fen and the others are preparing some sort of countermeasure up ahead, I do not think we can afford much longer.

My incredulity must be showing on my face, because he shrugs neutrally in response.

‘Well then, try taking a shot at it. I want to get its attention.’ I decide on spot, grab his arm and drag him away; leaving two stupefied enemies behind.

‘I’m leaving it to you, Fenris!’ I raise my voice, and the warrior seamlessly appears behind our backs, covering our retreat. It is no mean feat keeping three people at bay, but soon Wings close ranks around him and lessen the pressure.

We quickly climb up a foundation of rocks letting him have a clear view. Nervlis prefers to get close and personal while fighting, but he is a magnificent shot – on my more honest days I admit he is better than Valeria, who has been doing it her whole life. A natural talent; easily comparable to Sera.

He pulls an arrow, but before he can take his shot, I set the tip of it on fire. It decreases his aiming time, but I fully believe him capable of hitting the target.

The dragon flies just above us, and Nervlis does not waste the opportunity. It isn’t hard to realize his shot reached the target, because beast sways wildly and roars in pain. Curious, that even as an undead it can feel pain – maybe it is not exactly dead?

We certainly got his attention. The dragon stops harassing supply wagons, flips around and flies straight at us. Both of us cover behind the rocks from the fire, but as the creature passes by, a strong gust of wind from his wings disturbs the rocks creating a small avalanche, bringing us down. I fade step out of the danger and flip around to check how Nerlis had fared.

He dodged the worst of the rubble and remains conscious, if lying flat on the sand. His right leg however is bent at an awkward angle – from the distance it is hard to judge whether it is a bad sprain or a broken bone.  Just as I make my first step to aid him, a thundering roar announces return of the winged menace. He hovers directly above my second, and draws breath into his lungs.

Without second thought I immediately fade step twice to cross the distance, and shield Nervlis with my own body from the burst of flames. When the fiery breath reaches me I am overcome with sudden certainty – there’s no way I can take it. Some part of me was aware of it prior to my intervention… But then the remainder of my coherence flees as I focus on pouring my mana into the aura for as long as possible.

The clash between fire and my aura creates a blindingly white sparks, and then miniscule explosions one after another as layers of my defence falter, cracking under the strain. My mana drains rapidly but it makes no difference – the fire is too strong for me to withstand. My aura erodes, crumbles like a house of cards blown away by the wind. Soon I begin having troubles breathing, choking on the heat.

Somewhere behind me there’s a scream ‘Sola!’, calling out my name in Elvhen; but in my confused state I do not react.

Pure determination keeps me standing, when suddenly a male arm sneaks around my waist and a blast of chill lessens the pressure. I greedily breathe in cool breeze, while familiar power pushes the flames away.

My wolf had come.

Fen pulls me closer and entwines our auras defensively together, before casting his hand forward and raising spikes of ice from thin air. The dragon stubbornly perseveres in his efforts, but he is outmatched. Above my head Fen’s amulet cracks loudly, as he forces more power through and the icy peaks around us grow larger, until there’s another pained roar from the creature. He flails his neck wildly, and through the haze in my eyes I see two white spikes sticking out of his eyes. Awkwardly beating his wings he lifts farther away and makes his escape with sorrowful growls.

It signals the end of battle, our enemies completely discouraged by the departure of their terrifying ally. The organized assault begins to scatter into small groups of strugglers, demons left behind to slow down our chase by their human masters. Soon the racket begins quieting down, and healers start making their rounds.

The whole dragon ordeal lasted less than a minute, and yet I am exhausted. I slump; suddenly freed from the necessity of keeping my shields up, nearly dry of mana. I can feel a pounding headache in the back of my head, my body not adjusted to such rapid outpours of energy. I look up at Fen, slightly disconcerted by another debt to him.

He has a clearly disapproving expression, with a hint of sadness etched in his features, and suddenly I do not want to face it. Instead I turn to check on Nervlis, who scrambled up on his legs behind us.

‘Wait, let me help.’  I attempt to catch his arm but he sharply pulls away. I glance at him in astonishment, when Nervlis suddenly lifts his hand and slaps me.

I’m flabbergasted. I slowly lift my hand to touch it in confirmation. My cheek stings and begins swelling under my fingers. The skin feels hot.

‘Never, ever do anything like this again.’ Nervlis growls, fire in his eyes. I really want to ask what’s it all about – but pained lines on his face dissuade me from questioning him further. There will be time for it after he had gotten himself to the healers.

‘Are you quite finishes?’ I ask snippily instead, summoning a couple of Wings to help him move.  

It’s an effort to remain upright, the magical exhaustion fully seeping in; it is only because I hate showing any sign of weakness that I do not seek support myself. I nearly shake from overexertion watching as they take him away when Fen comes up and decisively scoops me up.

‘What do you think you are doing?’ I hiss angrily, fighting him off. It is a sign of my weakness how helplessly unsuccessful I am, as he puts me on his horse and mounts behind me.

‘The scouts have set up camp ahead; had it not been for this ambush we would have long reached it. Keep up for a while longer.’ Fen says shortly, completely ignoring my half-hearted efforts. But I can’t leave my people unattended, now that I’m finally here. As I am about to protest again, a wave of crushing sleepiness overwhelms me. My last thought is that the damn wolf used a sleeping spell to keep me subdued. Cheater.

To say that I am pissed when I wake up and realize nearly two days have passed is an understatement. Solas kept me under this whole time to let me recover; and we finally reached the walls of Adamant. He had no right! I grumble under my nose, feeling a growing resentment towards him. I get that he was worried but it does not signify messing with my physical self in such manner… Not to mention interrupt a chain of command within Wings!

Of course, the world have managed just fine in spite of my playing the Sleeping Beauty. Nervlis, even partially incapacitated, is perfectly capable of receiving reports and making decisions; and with so many of us gathered he had an overwhelming support. Ryanth took over management of our portion of the camp, Fenris as usual stuck with security and Valeria enjoyed herself with the Inquisition. Truth to be told I would not be very surprised if she decided to remain with them indefinitely. She is completely enchanted by Ellana. There are days I can’t believe I have raised her; somehow she turned out my exact opposite. Or maybe she is just a testament how much I detest myself – but I firmly squash that thought before it can lead any further.

‘You are awake. Good. It is time for the strategy meeting.’ Nervlis lifts his head seeing me emerge from my tent. I grimace at the way he completely glossed over my absence or his inexplicable behaviour; but considering the time I allow him to lead me to a central tent, where Inquisition’s most trusted have converged. Even from the distance I can hear an ongoing argument. However as I part the cloth serving as a doorway, it gets deathly quiet and all eyes fall upon me.

I cast a quick glance about, noting only the barest necessities – large table, maps and light, and people gathered. All of the companions and advisors – Iron Bull skulking in the back – Hawke, a man who can only be Warden Stroud, myself and Nervlis, just walking in.

‘Do not mind me.’ I wave off their interest with a smirk, and suddenly they all find the roof incredibly fascinating, embarrassed at being caught staring. Finally, Cassandra clears her throat and speaks with an air of offence,

‘You are late. We expected you two weeks ago.’

‘Did you. How utterly predictable.’ I smirk again, and Nervlis elaborates.

‘If Fean’Na had ever kept to her schedule, she would have died long ago.’

‘Wait, you **knew** she wasn’t coming to sign the treaty…?’ Ellana jumps angrily at his words.

‘Of course. I mean, she specifically told me to inform you of her arrival; how much more obvious it could get?’ Nervlis’ eyes glint with amusement, and I am overcome with sudden tenderness. Of course he figured it out.

Cullen loudly taps on the wooden surface of table.

‘Can we focus on the important things? The ritual takes place in a week; and getting through these walls quickly is going to be a considerable challenge.’

‘How about we just let them follow through with it?’ I ask nonchalantly, and again feel the weight of their gazes on me. ‘I can take out the demon without much trouble, and it will save us the problem of having to storm the walls of damn fortress.’

‘Just like you knew you could take on a dragon?’ Cassandra quips sarcastically. I lift my brow and counter evenly,

‘Nah, I knew I couldn’t.’ The temperature in the room suddenly drops, and table cracks from ice splinters near Fen. Everyone falls silent, looking at him with widened eyes. Heedless of it, he asks with deceptive softness,

‘But you have counted on me making it there, haven’t you?’

Unable to keep his gaze, I turn away and reply nonchalantly.

‘Not really.’

A storm of emotions crosses his eyes, raging anger and unspeakable sadness. The awkward silence in the room continues until Dorian interrupts it, changing the topic.

‘You are a mage as well though? What guarantee we have it will not make you an abomination?’

‘Actually, that would make everything easier. Fenris has lots of experience with abominations; he would be able to bring me down without any problems.’

A wave of cool air reaches me as the wolf in front of me growls,

‘Don’t even joke about that.’

Fen’s chilling look forces me to avert my eyes, and I shrug, hiding my sudden nervousness.

‘Fine.’ And returning to the previous topic, I continue my train of thought. ‘Seriously though, it is the best method to avoid unnecessary bloodshed.’

‘Aside from the Wardens, some sacrificed in a blasphemous ritual, others killed by the demon afterwards.’ Stroud is decidedly unimpressed with my suggestion to leave his brethren to their fate. I do not take offence, knowing that in his place I would have likely felt the same. It does not affect my stance in the least, though.

‘Tough luck.’ I shrug indifferently. ‘They are the ones being stupid enough to try it; and I am adverse to wasting the lives of my people for the sake of saving these idiots.’

‘Noted and discarded.’ Interrupts Ellana, just as Stroud looks ready to go for my neck. I sigh somewhat regretfully. Kicking his ass would have done wonders for my tense nerves. Alas, he calms down after her intervention, and merely sends me death threatening glares once in a while. ‘Now, I would like to hear some **other** suggestions how are we to deal with this. Ones that do not involve leaving Wardens to certain death.’ I disregard her warning stare in my direction.

It gets boring afterwards, and fighting off yawn I shift my attention elsewhere. It is soon clear there are no **other** definite solutions, and their best bet is to keep pounding on the damn gate until it breaks down. Considering the time limit and possibility of dragon intervention, I am not very keen on that idea. Not listening to their argument, I begin analysing the map on the table.

‘I can crash the gate for you on the condition my Wings will be kept away from the frontline during the assault.’ I break through their quarrelling, and they look at me blinking in astonishment. ‘That is, if you are still keen on losing soldiers for the sake of people who are largely responsible for placing us in the Corypheus mess in the first place.’

‘If you can do it, then go right ahead.’ Ellana’s voice rings with mockery, and I tilt my head in ironic gratitude at the approval.

Watch and learn, little girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter really did not want to get written. I've rewrote the final two scenes three times and honestly I'm still not wholly satisfied.  
> The inspiration for this chapter: I hated the dragon appearing out of thin air in Adamant. And then it behaved like it was derenged. It's plain stupid. So, here they have it all along, only by the time of assault its eyes won't be fully healed, explaining its awkwardness.
> 
> Also, Fen is sad and angry, and Nervlis is pissed off. Only Fean'Na remains a bit clueless. Do you have a better idea than her what's up with them?


	53. Offended Pride

Even after my assertions the council drags on for a long time. I am a bit offended that they doubt the success of my mission so readily; but begrudgingly admit that even I would have prepared a backup plan. And I know just how good I am. If only it did not take them so many needless words! I bet the Creators were swifter when they were shaping Thedas than this indecisive bunch.

Finally my annoyance overflows, and I sneak out quietly, Nervlis follows behind me with slightly more racket, his stealth skills limited by his leg in cast.

‘Gather our people, we have a little something to arrange for tonight.’ As soon as I finish these words, I begin coughing, choking on the gust of ever-present dust. Nervlis nods and after a couple of minutes his aides come rushing in. He delegates them efficiently while I sit in the sole chair in the room, trying to find my breath again.

And then they come, my most trusted. I fight off nausea at the back of my throat, knowing with certainty that there’s a traitor among them. There's Valeria, grimacing slightly while she salutes sloppily. Fenris, with grim solemnity and watchful eyes darting to check up on me. Bethany, smiling slightly with mischievous glint in her eyes. I know I'll never hear the end of this about me and Fen and hding it from them. Riv with wide grin, attempting an overbearing hug at the entrance which I sidestep neatly. Ever-serious Ryanth, though he relaxes his stiff posture a bit once the cloth is back down and no outsiders can see it. Arissar the spymaster nods respectfully, somehow managing to look more inconspicuous than the rest of us in spite of the horns and gigantic posture. And, last but not least, my second, elevated over my own daughter once he proved his capabilities. Nervlis drops to the ground in the elaborate bow I had once showed them and I immediately decide he has something to prove. Question is - what?

‘Nervlis, stop with this nonsense at once.’ I snap angrily, motioning him up. A shadow crosses his face and I know we have to talk, and soon; before this festers into conflict much harder to resolve.

But not now.

There’s a gaping hole in the circle, as they naturally take their usual positions around the table. The sorrow is too fresh for anyone to dare and fill it in though; and I leave it as it is.

‘I need a distraction near the south wall. Make it within sight of the gate; but far enough so that it does not look like an attack on it.’ I summarize my requirements succinctly .

‘Timeline?’ Fenris asks, raising his eyebrow thoughtfully while looking down on the terrain map.

I count in my head – I want the attack of Inquisition forces to be timed at first light, when the skies are greying. Over an hour to lull the garrison back into complacency after **failed** surprise assault; and about two hours for my task…

‘Begin about two hours after midnight, and make it last for two.’ I take a step back and allow them to discuss the strategies without my input. They are the ones who know individual capabilities of their people. I keep tabs only on generalities, or I would never have time for anything else. We grew too large, and with so many things I have to keep track of I gave up direct commanding years ago.

I leave them to their discussion, and return to my tent, fully intending on catching at least a couple of hours of sleep. I might be fully rested, but with the exertions this night and morning promise, I’ll need to be in top form.

I’m somewhat surprised to find Nervlis had followed me back. He is not going to be a part of the assault, for obvious reasons... Still I had expected him to be at least interested. Even though he as well, aside from personal aides, doesn’t have a squadron under his command. He had given it up with his rank's elevation. I off-handedly wonder if he misses it, considering his presence. Why had he come?

I do not have to wait for his explanation, as he launches into heated accusations.

‘Fean'Na, this has to stop. We are putting everything on the line to protect you. And yet you deny all our efforts when you blindly rush to sacrifice yourself for like that.’

‘But that’s just what I do!’ I exclaim, astounded. ‘You did not mind it so much when I went after you two years ago.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous; you know the situation doesn't compare in the slightest. You kept yourself out of the danger for the most part; and most certainly did not put yourself up for slaughter like today.' Nervlis draws a breath. His eyes soften a bit, when he continues. 'I know that our friend’s deaths hit you hard, but you can’t just get careless like that every time we lose someone. People die, Pride. There are many Wings who had died on your orders. Are they any less important just because you did not know them that well?’

I escape with my eyes, unable to face his words. Of course they are not less important, but I just can’t bring myself to care for everyone in equal degree. Is he telling me to stop treating them like my friends, and instead see them merely as subordinates? That’s beyond me.

‘Pride.’ Nervlis says my name gently, like a delicate caress. ‘The world would be fine with me gone; but your loss is one it won’t recover from.’

I clench my fists; how wrong he is. Thedas would have been much better off with me gone – and aeons ago.

Nervlis, seeing my blatant disagreement and shakes his head, muttering in a low voice - clearly forgetting I can hear him.

‘You don’t see it… Of course you don’t. If you had, you wouldn’t be yourself. You have given us so much already…’ And then, more loudly. ‘We do not want you to lay down your life. For any of us. Go on. Be yourself, fulfil your goals without ever fully explaining yourself as you have done so far. We trust you to lead us to a brighter future; we are ready to die for it. For you. You are demeaning our efforts with your careless attitude.’

I glance at him in disbelief, pursing my lips. There has to be a limit to his outrageous statements; and I have never seen such almost worshipping attitude from any of them towards me. Thankfully. I would have gone batshit crazy if that had been the case.

I want to interject, deny these blatant untruths. Nervlis however easily overrides my protest, and words die in my throat as he carries on.

‘I meant to keep the full truth from you. Alas. You have left me with no choice.’ His eyes turn grimly severe, and I brace myself.  ‘Esme and Ebareth did not have a quick death. They were tortured for hours to no end. They have not revealed anything.’

‘No.’ I whisper in denial, hoping, praying with all my heart he would take it back. But his patience has clearly run out, as he continues mercilessly in a steady pace. Like a metronome measuring passing seconds; in vast contrast to my erratically beating heart.

‘If you thought about it, you would have known it as well. I mean, really, a well-prepared raid – who would allow for any chance interruption?’

I do not want to hear more, but I can’t make him stop. Spellbound, I listen helplessly as truth comes pouring out of him; and my mind reels in shock.

‘According to physician, they were worked on for at least twelve hours. Twelve hours, Fean’Na. And that’s not even the worst of it.’

Please, stop. Don’t say any more. I do not want to know.

But Nervlis remains unmoved by the silent plea in my eyes, as he strikes the final blow.

‘Our sources in the Qun related to us that they were offered a plea bargain. Everything they knew in regards to you, specifically, and their children walk away free.’ I close my eyes, unable to cope with inevitable continuation. It still comes, another tick in the metronome. ‘They did not betray you. Esme and Ebareth were forced to watch their children die in front of them and yet they did not say **a word.** '

'This is the extent of our devotion to you, Pride – our loyalty is more than life itself; it extends far beyond it.’

‘You are belittling their sacrifice when you throw your life away like you did today. You have a duty, to them, to us, to survive. Survive and reshape the world to fit your ideal – because that’s what pulled us to you in the first place.’

‘I’m not telling you to stop fighting – because I fully believe in the normal circumstances, you will make it out fine. Maybe not completely unscathed, but fine. In the worst case, your peculiar strengths will allow you a clean break and escape.’

‘Some could say you have demon’s luck, but that’s not exactly the case. You are not the best in Thedas because you are stronger than anyone – that is just not true. No, you simply know how to pick your battles and you make your own luck.’

‘So don’t go rushing into death’s embrace ever again.’

I force my eyes to open, and look at him silently, unable to come up with any response. Words have completely left me.

Nervlis, however, does not expect one from me. He bows deeply, and once I waive my hand dismissively, departs.

Leaving me with my burden increased tenfold.

I can’t deny some part of me was suspicious of Esme’s and Ebareth’s deaths. His letter, and later the words of my Seere Wings were too clean-cut… Rehearsed. As if they had done it before. Or maybe I grew too jaded, always expecting the worst? In the back of my mind I wonder – if he so readily lied about something this important… What else did he lie about? What else has been perceived too dangerous to admit for my own good?

And isn’t it heartless of me that after this full of worry and concern speech he directed at me, the most important thing for me was not my friend’s sacrifice, but the realization that I need to suspect them all, from now on?

It makes me tired. Still, regardless of my best intentions, I can’t very well fall asleep after **that**. I go over his words endlessly, shaken by purity of their conviction. It is downright terrifying, the fact that he completely believed in what he spoke of.

I am humbled by their devotion. I am petrified by the responsibility it places on me. I am shocked by the implications. Because now, I am no longer supposed to ensure their survival…

Nervlis told me, explicitly. I am to guarantee their **death** is meaningful. I am to treat them as chess pieces on my very own game board. I am to achieve my own goals – and I am not even liable an explanation.

I have a sudden bout of nausea, and then a red haze coats my eyes. I've never wanted it to become like this! It is more constricting than ever… And I wonder how much further I can be pushed. Why even my own friends try to make me into a sociopath?

Trying to make sense of my jumbled feelings leaves me an emotional wretch. And ultimately proves pointless. I end up no less confused than I was hours before, only much more exhausted. I feel a wave of relief once Nervlis comes in. The status update of the strike teams is just what I needed to abandon the maudlin exercise in futility.

The night is dark, and air refreshingly cool when I step outside. It helps clearing my mind, as I fixate on the task. Somewhere far away the Huntress star gleams brightly, a clear sign the morning is still hours away. I stretch slightly, and squeeze my second’s arm both in reassurance and silent command to proceed. I fish out the few things I’ll need - a long rope with a heavy sack secured to it, and Bianca’s gift.

I do not dally, intent on making use of the darkest - and thus the best - part of the night for my needs. I begin cautious approach to the gates, skulking from shade of one rock to another. I do not shy away from using mana to blink whenever I deem the distance to my next hiding place too great to pass safely. The heavy sack on my back bounces against my spine; but I press on relentlessly, disregarding temporary discomfort. Bruises will heal. I am nearing the huge wooden gates when a loud, melodious sound from defenders’ horn wakes up the garrison. Voices of the startled guards ring in the night, as they rush to support their comrades. It leaves gates mostly unguarded, aside from skeletal crew, and I use the opportunity swiftly crossing the remainder of distance.

Urgently I reach to the sack and begin pressing gaatlok into creases between wooden planks. The wood is old and battered by desert winds; there are many larger and smaller holes. Once I deem the amount sufficient, I burn out a small hole in the base and push more of the explosive into created space. And finally, I cut my fingers and draw a glyph - somewhat skewed due to uneven surface of wood.

The noises of Wings’ mages assaulting the walls get louder, pounding offensive spells into the mostly magic-resistant surface. Half of my time is already up, and I am nowhere near finished. Grabbing much-lighter sack of gaatlok I run to the side, distancing myself from the decoy. Looking up, I do not see any guards in the vicinity; patrols have naturally drifted towards battle. The walls are well-prepared and too polished to climb up... but this is where Bianca’s gift comes into play. I throw my silver string up in the air and send it flying, until it secures itself onto a wooden overhead. Typically the construction is used to protect defenders against archers - but this time, it will serve to their detriment. With a grunt of pain when silver digs into my skin I lift myself upwards, and jump soundlessly onto the overhead.

Pulling sack up by the rope I've brought, I take a scrutinizing look around. Defence appear completely absorbed by the little distraction my people have prepared. Good.

Grabbing onto gaatlok, I dismiss stairs and flip myself in the air and onto a courtyard, expending even more of my mana to break down the fall. I repeat the process of scrunching gaatlok into gates as I did on the other side. Finishing up with another glyph, I strap empty sack to my side and quickly run up. Now the most important thing - not allowing anyone to see me. If they did, they would start to wonder, and everything would have been for naught.

Glyphs take some time to settle in.

My luck seems to have run out, for there’s a patrol passing through my escape route. Instinctively I drop down from the stairs, hanging on the side merely by tips of my fingers. Adrenaline runs in my veins. I hear loud thuds of my frantic heartbeat in my ears as my fingers strain under the pressure of holding my body in the air. I pray to the Creators they do not look down. Gods seem to hear my fervent pleas, for the soldiers pass me by unaware. Crawling onto the battlement I breathe in relief, attempting to calm down my rapid pulse. Once my hands stop shaking I do not waste any more time, and jump down straight from the walls onto sand, once again slowing my descent with magic.

All those tricks **do** come in handy, if I say so myself.

I run away from the fortress as fast as I can, racket on the other side considerably slowing down. Nervlis knows time is up; there’s no need to tire our fighters without need.

Back in my quarters I treat my arm, dispassionately noting scars already embedded in my skin after merely a month of using the string. Constantly healing and again cutting left its mark. Bandages soon soak in vibrant red, but the bleeding stops. I drink greedily a couple mouthfuls of water, clearing my parched throat from the dust. This damned desert. I hate it. I hate sand, and too much sun, and when even shade does not provide much relief from heat. Gods made a terrible mistake when they created this region...

After another half an hour, I make my way to Inquisition’s side of the camp; skies greying at my back. Nervlis is already there, apparently having remained after Wings’ offensive was finished. I approach Ellana and her companions briskly, and ask,

‘Is everything in place?’

‘I sincerely hope you haven’t dragged us out at asscrack of dawn for nothing, Flash.’ Varrick grumbles under his nose, grimacing in direction of the fortress.

‘People are in positions.’ Cassandra replies to my question. I nod, acknowledging the information and thanking her for it.

‘Do you have lyrium potion at hand? I could use some boost.’ I ask Nervlis, who immediately reaches to the pouch at his side.

‘I thought you might need it.’ He smiles, tossing blue bottle in my direction.

I pull out the stopper. However before I can drink, someone snatches bottle from my hand. I tense, instinctively reacting to an unexpected presence at my back.

‘You are not drinking that.’ Says a masculine voice from above my ear. I force my muscles to relax in recognition.  

‘Fen.’ I sigh in exasperation. ‘Don’t be ludicrous, a small amount won’t kill me.’

Instead of replying he cups my chin and lowers his face drawing me into a kiss. I attempt to speak, but Fen uses the opportunity to sneak in his tongue. My protest melts in his mouth, as I further loosen up in his secure hold. I am so lost in his touch I do not realize that his eyes begin glowing. On the edge of my awareness I note flow of power, but then Fen pulls me closer and my mind decides to take a break.

Creators I’ve missed this! And I’ve missed him. So. Damn. Much. It has been only, what, two months? Less than that. I come completely undone under his touch. I forget about the army of onlookers; soldiers in wait, Inquisitor glowering hostilely, and my astounded Wings; enjoying the sensation that is uniquely my wolf.

‘You should not have done that.’ I murmur breathlessly once he finally lets go. Probing my reserve, I can feel it completely replenished. ‘You are the one who is going to be fighting on the frontline; you need mana more than me.’

‘I could always use lyrium.’

‘No!’ I say without thinking and then blush, embarrassed, once I realize he was joking. Why would he need it at all? His own reserves are likely barely touched by this exchange... Clearly following my train of thought, Fen smirks in condescension.

‘Double standards much, Pride?’ He ruffles my hair affectionately.

‘I do not see what she would need the mana for. Gate remains standing.’ Ellana snips irritably, and I suddenly remember there are other people around.

For a moment I could have sworn there were only two of us in the world. Void; the man will be the end of me. If I ever lost him it would be much worse to bear than any crime I might have on my conscience.

I guess that makes me a monster.

I swat away his hand and turn in fortress’s direction. Extending my hand I whip around silver string, stretching it fully until it reaches the gates. It flays to gain momentum, making a swishing sound before embedding itself into the center of my crude glyph. With a deep breath I concentrate, reaching inside while inconspicuously cutting my finger on the string. The power behind both actions triggers release of the glyph.

‘Ladies and gentlemen.’ I bow theatrically with a wild flap of my hand, as two consecutive blasts tear the wood into shreds. ‘The way is open. A courtesy of a little magic and our Qunari allies.’

If looks could kill I would have died on the spot. But both Iron Bull and Ellana focus on their respective roles, leading the charge before our enemies have a chance to somehow fill this sudden hole in their defence.

‘Wings will remain in the backguard, as was previously discussed.’ I remind Nervlis sharply.

My second nods, and I do not waste any more time in joining the fray. Fen sticks closely to my side, his aura coating me defensively. I grin widely. There’s nothing quite as liberating as being able to give it my all and knowing he is there to cover all of my openings.

Battle on the outer courtyard is short and brutal; Warden’s morale completely destroyed by the loss of gates. Inner yard takes a bit longer to take under control, with a rift there. And then there’s a familiarly ominous roar of a dragon coming from above us, perched on the tower. We exchange worried glances, and I wave Fen off.

‘Go on with Ellana. I’ll manage just fine.’ I slash through another demon while he wavers indecisively.

‘Go.’ I repeat, and the wolf nods tightly, dissapearing in a blue flash of magic.

I return my attention to what few opponents remain. Inquisition forces have already secured the walls, voices of Wardens rising their hands in surrender can be heard all-over.

Another roar tears through the air. It flies up and spits flames on the path of four small figures, clearly climbing up the keep. But his fire doesn’t reach them, swallowed in by a blue barrier. Fen clearly made it just in time.

I can’t keep looking at the situation above, a new wave of demons hits us. They come from large hole in reality in the center of battlefield, and without Ellana there isn’t anyone around to close it. When I am finally able to spare a moment to look upwards dragon is gone… But so is half of the keep.

I feel a flicker of unease, but otherwise keep my calm. Falling back from the frontlines, I gather a contingent of Wings’ mages to create a barrier surrounding the rift. It temporarily stops demonic invasion, awaiting Inquisitor’s returns to close it for good.

The people in Inquisition are in complete panic. The four who were chasing after Warden Commander Clarel and winged menace are gone, disappeared into thin air. Random search for them is mounted, without much hope of success. Forces are thrown into disarray, contradictory orders issued by Cullen and Leliana who nearly come to blows; both of them deeply affected by this unexpected turn of events.

I do not allow this frenzied atmosphere to affect me, focusing on tending to the few injuries we have. Not bothering about line of command, I also take care of Inquisition’s wounded soldiers, avoiding having to deal with the two completely out-of-sorts people. With help of Bethany and Fiona medic stations are set up; Valeria and Ryanth organise a meal for everyone to eat. With an advice from Nervlis, overlooking the operations, I delegate a couple of people under Fenris to begin clearing debris from the crucial locations.

There’s no telling the dragon won’t return. I haven’t seen it die; and there’s no carcass anywhere to be found. It is, likely, still alive and well; although in the heat of the battle I have completely missed the action.

But it would be far from the truth if I said I wasn’t irritated by this sudden bout of incompetence from our allies. So when Vivienne comes with her busybodying ways putting her nose where it isn’t wanted, I snap at her without holding back.

‘My, but you are positively agitated, dear.’ She glows with unhealthy satisfaction, and I grit my teeth to stop instinctive reply that I’m no one’s **dear** ; and most assuredly not hers.

‘Not at all, Madame. I simply could not bear for your exquisite outfit to get dirty from all the hard work.’ I answer in sickly sweet tone, dripping with sarcasm. Madame de Fer purses her full lips in dissatisfaction, unwittingly glancing at her ridiculous robe. It used to be white, all right - only in this conditions the once pristine colour creates a greater contrast with smudges and dust, further exposing them.

‘ **I** would hate for you, dear, to be disappointed when your pointy-eared lover does not come back.’

I bristle at such description of my wolf. So demeaning; so disrespectful. Who is Vivienne to judge him? But I forcefully remind myself that this is not the moment to enlighten her as to his complete superiority to her.

‘Fen will return, I have no doubts.’ Nervlis limping, comes closer and gives me the reports I’ve asked him for. I glance at them pointedly, strongly suggesting for the mage to leave. However, she is stubbornly - and brazenly - pursuing the topic.

‘I can’t really comprehend this respectful deference both you and the Inquisitor have towards the apostate.’

‘Might be ‘cause you are blind.’ I mutter under my nose, rifling through Wings’ supply records and checking up on the remaining reserves. Vivienne hears my disinterested comment, but decides to leave it unanswered, continuing with her previous thought as if I had not said a word.

‘He is an uneducated savage, without any fundamental knowledge whatsoever.’ I barely stifle a derisive snort at this farfetched description. Fen was the one to **create** most of the basics Vivienne so enthusiastically draws on; and to call him uneducated simply because he did not follow Circle’s restrictive curriculum is just ludicrous.

‘Then again, I could not expect either of you to fully discern his deficiencies. Inquisitor’s fundamentals are just as lacking; and you are not even a proper mage. I’ve seen the little tricks you use and call magic.’ Vivienne sneers, while Wings around me tense. I, on the other hand, remain completely indifferent. I could care less about her opinion of me, and I sincerely hope she will leave after having said her piece.

But she does not.

‘I can’t, for the love of Maker, understand why do these people follow you at all. You are neither particularly powerful, nor are you capable of sound judgement.’

I close the book with a loud snap which makes Nervlis’s assistant jump nervously in place. Vivienne just crossed the line which should not have been crossed.

‘You have exactly one second to retract the statement you’ve just made.’ I speak deceptively mildly, feeling mana swirl inside me in response to my anger.

‘Or?’

‘Or I’ll make you regret it. Believe me, you do not want that.’ I shove tome into the hands of a trembling man beside me, my eyes glittering dangerously. He grabs it and flinches away.

‘Oh, do try. I hope you at least manage to relieve my boredom.’ She picks up the staff, while I wave people away from the center of courtyard. The glow on my fingers must be convincing, for they positively scurry out of the way.

I begin sedately circling Vivienne, slowly picking up pace. She turns around to face me, her clothes shining in slightly purple shade from defensive aura. When I begin running, I fade step right behind her, my fingers jamming right into her defence which comes crashing down. Vivienne gasps taking a step backwards, and immediately recasts her spell. This time, she adds an offensive one as well, and soon a four missiles fly in my direction. I whirl away from each one, faster than a thought appearing behind her so that they turn against her. Vivienne’s barrier falls a second time, only now I add a good kick to her knees and send her face down to the ground.

‘Do pick yourself up, Madame. I do hope you will manage to be more entertaining than just that.’ I taunt snarkily, circling her again.

Vivienne does have a nasty grimace on her face standing up, which looks somewhat comical with the sand in her eyebrows. She spits out sand, and comes after me seriously. A flurry of strikes from her staff and strong barrier - strong combination of offence and defence, which makes for a well-trained Knight Enchanter.

I dodge and erect small bursts of mana to shield her strikes when necessary, blinking at her back and whittling away her barrier whenever she is focused on the attack. In the back of my head I realize grimly she is much less of a threat than Iron Bull was, and isn’t this a sad testament to the overall weakness of Continental Mages if one like Vivienne is considered powerful.

Another well-aimed, powerful blow at Vivienne’s back sends her flying. I am about to finish the fight - admonishing myself that no, killing supposed allies is not in a good taste - when Fen’s voice calls from above.

_‘Pride, you should not pick on children.’_

_‘I am pretty sure the woman has left her youth behind, Fen. She certainly shows no imagination attributable to them.’_ I counter casually, keeping Vivienne in the peripheral view. I wouldn’t put it past her to try and strike at me in the back to avenge her mortification. It is a perfectly acceptable practice in Orlais. Otherwise unaffected by his application to my sportsmanship, I take another step in Vivienne’s direction. A sudden swish of movement, and he grabs my hand.

_‘You are all tense. What’s wrong?’_

_‘She is what is wrong. She annoys me, she has disparaged you and the Inquisitor and my people having nothing whatsoever to speak of in her own favour. I’ve longed to teach her a lesson for the longest time. Her_ **_existence_ ** _offends me.’_ And I have killed for less. Much less.

 _‘Fean’Na, you are letting_ **_shem_ ** _get to you. She is nothing, not worth your attention._ _Some people never mature.’_ And damn him, Fen is smirking while saying those words, so I am uncertain whether he means Vivienne, or myself. His double entendre completely disarms me. I can’t help but laugh at this typical for him play on words. Kissing softly his cheek, I say,

_‘Welcome back.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am soooo sorry it took so long for this chapter to get written. But at first I had to deal with the beginning of the semester, and then my laptop broke (it's back again) and because I have forgotten to back up my half-done chapter on-line I had to wait for it to get repaired before finishing up.  
> I have mentioned I will be rewriting Pride - and for your information, two chapters are already up! It will expand on Arlathan part of the story a lot, and add a few more scenes with the Wings but I suspect Inquisition part will remain largely unchanged aside from grammar corrections. Still, for those interested, do look it up. It's not taking away from my original Pride writing time since I am only doing it while being uninspired to do next chapter - and I promise, just because I am rewriting it, it does not mean I'll leave Pride unfinished. Although I will cut it off a bit earlier, and write a proper sequel once the rewrite caught up with the original story.  
> As always, I love to hear from you, so do leave your thoughts behind. Cheers.


	54. Remorseless Pride

Looking down on Vivienne I speak coldly.

‘Be grateful for wolf’s interference, for if I had it my way, you would be in a much sorrier state. Bitch.’ And it is so damn good being able to fully express the disdain I’ve long felt for her. Without wasting any more time on her, I turn around and, caressing slightly Wolf’s cheek in goodbye, march in the direction of awaiting me Nervlis.  

He falls into step at my back, commenting jokingly as we enter our temporary quarters,

‘You know, it is generally not in good taste to murder one’s allies.’

‘Even when they really, really piss me off?’ I whine in protest, flashing him a pleading smile. He shakes his head with mock-seriousness, but an amused tug of his lips betrays him.

I wave him off while entering a study assigned to me. Wings have already moved all of my stuff here; likely because there wasn’t a lot of it. But there’s a whole stack of reports - adjusted for supply loss, catalogued injuries as well as Valeria’s estimation of how these will affect us, and relocation recommendations for the most injured and their replacements. Seeing the large pile on my desk makes me want to turn around and leave 

When Fenris comes in some time later, I welcome him like a ray of hope. However, as he salutes me formally, my initial happiness at his arrival wanes. He does not speak, but I do not need words to figure out what he has come for. We can’t put it off any longer, it’s unfair to Esme and Ebareth. Closing my eyes with defeated sigh, I command him,

‘Go ahead with it.’

Once doors close after him with a soft click, I stand up from uncomfortable wooden chair, abandoning the evils of paperwork. My mood had plummeted so far down I am unable to look at it anymore. Without backwards glance I leave the confines of my office, and climb up a couple flight of stairs. 

The sun has set a while ago, and the wind is getting a bit chilly; even on this vast frying pan of a desert. Breathing in deeply I swing my legs off the parapet, letting them dangle above the courtyard. Looking below I entertain a thought what it would be like to drop down; only this time without covering for the fall with magic.

Of course, soon irritatingly reasonable part of my mind tells me I would likely suffer debilitating injuries… but my death is not likely. Knowing my luck I would end up crippled, and my pride would force me to pull through regardless. I already had half-leg once; I can imagine having half of spine would be much less fun.

And then there’s Fen to consider. Regardless of my wishes, I doubt he would let me go without fight. I can’t pull him along my depression.

I sigh regretfully, glancing down with longing. It would certainly spare me the many decisions I would rather not make.

Hearing heavy steps from downstairs, I roll my eyes with irritation. No rest for the wicked.

It is only Hawke, who looks at me with a mixture of relief and annoyance.

‘Did you really have to climb up this high for a moment of privacy?’ He huffs somewhat breathlessly.

I glance up at the twinkling stars, not feeling like justifying myself.

‘I think getting more training would keep you more fit. You are out of practice, Hawke.’

‘Give me but a moment and I will prove you wrong.’ Flirtatious note enters his voice, and I back away from him, shuddering.

‘Did you need something?’ I ask snappishly, ready to chase him away. I do have more important things to consider than an overfamiliar shem with a penchant of hitting on anything relatively feminine. I have heard enough stories from Bethany to be suspicious of his intentions.

‘It’s stronger than me.’ Hawke looks sheepish, shrugging with an apologetic smile. 

I nod in acknowledgement, but otherwise dismiss him from the forefront of my mind, deliberating over the inevitable changes in Wings. We need people to replace the missing numbers in leadership… The problem is I do not feel like anyone is really prepared for that kind of responsibility. I have been monitoring a couple of most promising agents, but no one really fits the bill.

‘I would like to thank you.’ Hawke’s voice startles me out of my musings, and I realize he hasn’t gone anywhere.

‘There’s no need. Bethany has earned her place on her own merit.’

‘I was not speaking of my sister.’ I glance at him in silent enquiry, and he turns his gaze away uneasily. ‘Varric told me you had assisted Isabella during her escape. I was the reason for her return, and yet I failed her. I wanted to spare her but I had to weigh her life against countless others. I am grateful you were there to pick up the pieces.’

I keep the truth behind the so-called escape to myself. There’s no need to delve in and complicate matters - and in any case, Valotaar is long dead. Exalting his name in front of Hawke has no meaning.

‘If I could ask you to relay my apologies to Isabela.’ He looks sincere, but I bristle nonetheless. I will not be playing a messenger; I’ve got more important stuff to deal with.

‘Tell her yourself.’ I growl irritably. Hawke looks at me pleadingly, and even in spite of the darkness I can see his sadness, expressed in slumped shoulders and shadowed eyes. 

‘I doubt she would see me.’ The defeated tone finally clues me in. I had not considered the possibility before, but now it seems obvious - of course they have been lovers. Two notorious flirts, clearly interested in one another? It could not have ended otherwise.

Suddenly, I can see his choice in even more favourable light than before. It must have torn his heart out, making her go with Valotaar. And how betrayed Isabela must have felt! 

It also casts another light on Isabela’s random streak of lovers in recent years. I have always felt like there was a hidden depth to her playing around, ever since she came to Wings. A hidden desperation to never spend a night alone. Now I wonder if she still hurts.

I glance at Hawke again, and bite my lip in consideration. Maybe we could make use of each other. 

‘Got any plans once this is over?’

He is clearly thrown by the sudden change of topic, but replies nonetheless.

‘Nothing specific.’

‘Well then. Now you do. Welcome to the team. Nervlis will tell you all you need to know.’ He looks at me in utter bewilderment. I put my hand on his shoulder, and squeeze it reassuringly. ‘Isabela will be back in Minrathous in two months. It should be enough for you to get comfortably settled in… And good luck, Hawke.’

You are going to need it.

I jump down from the parapet and walk away, fighting off the urge to whistle triumphantly. It has not solved my problems, not by a longshot - but Hawke is a very talented individual, for all quirks of his character. I have no idea how his and Isabela’s issue will get resolved - possibly, not at all. But he has his chance, and I have another person capable of leading others. He might not be Ebareth, but Hawke will learn. And both Fenris and Bethany will be happy to have him around. Hopefully, happy enough to get off my back.

I can’t fall asleep, in spite of this unexpected success. Watching as the skies begin shimmering and darkness slowly disperses, I hug my knees to chase away morning chill. I have grown somewhat accustomed to high temperatures on the desert, and morning temperature feels much colder in comparison than it is in reality. 

The contours of mountains in the distance begin glowing as the sun rises. I shield my eyes, adjusting to brightness. Sand under my feet is still pleasantly cool, but I know that in two hours it will begin burning my bare feet. I disregard it though, waiting for Fenris to appear. And he does, looking pale after a sleepless night, with a couple of hastily scribbled pages for me to see.

I crumple the unwanted truths in front of me, before taking a cursory look at him and sending him to catch some sleep. Fenris sends me a halfhearted glare, clearly suggesting the same for me - but I am already lost in the words before me, and pretend not to see. He excuses himself gruffly.

Nervlis comes for me when it is time; I’ve barely realised hours that have passed. The reading, and then analysis of it had me completely engrossed. Still, one look at him and my muscles grow taut in unpleasant stiffness. But I am no coward to avoid facing reality. There are things that need to be done.

I nod in greeting, while he waits for me wordlessly to don my official, silver cloak. I do not have an uniform signifying my position, having avoided it for years with unrelenting stubbornness. Fiona and Tasha were at their wits end. Finally, fed up with the situation Ryanth had threatened me that if I did not take it easy on his wife, he would find ways to make my life unpleasant. I believed him and compromised. 

The cloak was my concession. I still found excuses to avoid it as often as possible; but sometimes, it was necessary. Sometimes it was time to show off my authority. Like now.

I was supposed to look regal; but I am certain it made for a bizarre sight instead. Contrasts which fully expressed how I feel about my position. And yet, somehow, I think it is fitting. It fits me and what I represent - what we represent. It reaches to our slave origins while showing that we can rise above them. We are more than just former slaves; we have emancipated ourselves and fought back. We should take pride in ourselves.

And I am sure pride shows in my every step, even as my feet sting from the heated sand. I am still barefoot, looking a bit like a castaway in a sea of sand. But then, I also look like the leader, princess and Pride - I look like myself and that is the point. The ripped silk shirt and half rolled up trouser legs and the rich material bellowing at my back. The damn cloak is unwieldy and without wind to pick it up it drags on the ground; but it is also so light at the smallest movement of air it picks up and floats. Silver wings spread in flight are embroidered on it, and I remember that I am the one who cast  chains off first. I am the one who allowed most of these people to fly.

The Wings were already gathered. Fenris have informed Nervlis yesterday, and the word was spread. They part before me, creating a clear path through a sea of bowed heads and bent in respect knees. 

I had never wanted this. The soles of my feet are hurting from the scorched ground in reminder I so desperately need - I am only mortal. I am far from infallible. And the power I have over these people has to be used wisely.

I’ve long outgrown June’s favourite. But now, I am afraid the shadow Quicksilver casts on my life will become a burden that will crush me.

But allowing my fear to rule over me was never part of who I am. If I am to go, I would rather go in full blazing glory of a fallen star, than 

Riv, chained and unmoving, observes my arrival without blinking. I, on the other hand, am much more discomposed. It should not be this hard; not when I know for certain he is guilty. And I suppose what terrifies me is not decision I have come to accept. No; what I am disgusted with is the manner in which my judgement will be delivered.

And yet. 

‘We have gathered here to pass a judgement on one of our own.’ I begin steadily, turning around to look at my Wings. With a motion I make them stand up, and they do in a synchronized rustle of their robes and clinks of armour. But then, again, a deafening silence falls. It is so quiet a faraway cry of a hunting bird can be clearly heard. 

‘Riv of the Rivain has been a spy for our enemies for many years.’ I’ve read Fenris’ reports along my journey. Of the little threads, seeds of doubt sown here and there which made him suspect our Trainer. Of the damning documents he has found, confirmations of the messages sent and received. Of the lesser agents Riv has introduced into the organisation while my eyes were looking suspiciously at Valeria, my own daughter. ‘He is responsible for many of the tragedies which shook our organisation; of the most recent, he is the one who set up our companions and my dear friends, Ebareth and Esme.’

Fenris got full confession from Riv. I did not ask how he has managed it in the short time since I’ve given him a free hand. I did not need details; I’ve had enough nightmares of my own deeds without adding his to the count. I’ve never forgotten that Danarius has used him in similar manner before; and time did nothing to dull his skill. I doubt it was pleasant for him, recalling memories of his servitude. But he did what was necessary, and I was grateful that I did not have to do it myself.

A dark voice in my soul whispers that I was fully capable of doing it myself. I could have broken Riv with my own hands. It was for my convenience that I did not; my selfishness forced Fenris to relieve the nightmares of his life.

But I’ve come to terms with my selfishness. It is not, by far, my worst trait.

And so I silence distractions in my mind, and continue. 

‘There’s only one way we, in Wings, repay for betrayal. And that is death. Death in suffering. Death in regret. For those who have betrayed us know that we will go after their treasures and close ones.’ I take a deep breath, looking without flinching on the hundreds of people gathered around me, drinking my every word with rapt attention. They will repeat what they heard; they will deliver my message as they are sent to their assignments. I want the meaning to be clear. I want my warning to be heard. I want my threat to be feared. ‘I want those who are considering betrayal, or those among us who already sold their souls to our enemies, to be afraid. To think twice whether the price is worth the temporary gain. Because even if they attempt to run, I will find them. I will find them and they will regret their decision. There’s no forgiveness for traitors.’

Riv did not. He knew better than to try once Fenris came after him, dogging him until the man was out of breath and heaving. In his advanced age, he could not keep up with the still young and springy, lyrium laced elf. I know, had he had his hair they would have streaks of grey weaved in.

It is a small measure of comfort he keeps his head shaved. It lets me forget his years. Faced with his still very handsome face, I can focus on the important facts rather than feel like the sadistic executioner.

‘Any last words?’ I ask neutrally, looking at the man. I surprise myself, but there isn’t even a flicker of fondness. Not even a hint of hesitation. I am ready to do what’s necessary; regardless how heartless it would appear from outsiders viewpoint. All of our long history does not make me any more forgiving towards him. Riv has denied it with his actions; and he will face full consequences of it.

‘And here I thought it was my line. Aren’t you even the least curious?’ His voice is abit haggard, and I am reminded that Fenris had forced out his full confession barely hours ago. 

Still, Riv keeps his composure admirably, even if he cannot keep my gaze. I am not surprised, for I know what he sees in my eyes. His impending doom and my complete indifference towards his fate. 

But his question does have merit, and I consider it for a moment, before asking:

‘Who killed your predecessor in Qarinus?’ Something flashes through his eyes, and he bursts out laughing. It is a touch on the hysterical side, but I wait through his outburst patiently.

‘Oh Quicksilver. We have all underestimated you, didn’t we? Even though I was right beside you, your pretty face and lack of care in the world deceived me; I forgot there’s a keen mind hidden behind all of your detachment and aloofness.’

‘ **There was no pirate raid in the first place.** ’

I nod neutrally, having already pieced the puzzle together. But it is nice to have a definite confirmation for my theory.

Without further ado, I cast my hand forward, and the silver string responds to my call, lying a fragile shape on the ground surrounding him. I have agonized for hours, how I am to solve the problem he constituted. In the end, I could only reach to my experiences; to the memory which long haunted my nightmares. 

‘Ignis.’ My mouth whisper a worded command, and my mana tugs in response of glyph’s activation. 

Flames rise from straight lines constituting the star within pentagram. Riv’s face scrunches in pain, but for now he braves the initial pain silently. But his silence will not last long, I know. The heat will become unbearable and the burn will gnaw at his resolve, until he screams in pain.

I could have made it a swift execution. I could have made the flames burn in bright whiteness, consuming him in seconds; he would not have had time to utter a single sound. I did not need to burn him in the first place; I could have turned to Fenris or cut through his neck myself in one clean strike. 

But that would defeat the point. And if my nightmares of Andraste’s execution lasted for centuries, then I see no reason why this image would not remain with my Wings for the years to come. I want them to remember it, vividly.

First scream tears from Riv’s throat, and I turn back to observe as the flames lick on his already drying skin. As the stench of burnt flesh reaches me, I let my mind wander, easily pushing away the unpleasant reality from my mind.

Fenris was very thorough in his investigation. Riv was Qunari agent long before he had come to Tevinter; before we even met. From my question, I have ascertained the few things Fenris did not know to ask about; but since the whole thing happened over two decades ago, I did not expect him to. It is disturbing that the Qunari managed to position one of their own so highly in hierarchy of Tevinter’s coastal defence. I have no doubt that Riv had, throughout his years of service, promoted many of his fellow agents to influential positions. That’s what I would have done in his position.

To my side, the man begins thrashing, pointlessly trying to escape the circle of flames. It is instinctive reaction on his part, as he strains against chains holding him in place. His screams become more soul-wrenching, and a couple of people turn their heads away. I have allowed Nervlis to discreetly dismiss those who are too soft-hearted to watch it unfold until the end. They do so now, with grateful bows escaping from the execution.

I observe their departure with a slight frown; and then shake my head slightly and tuning out the noise, return to my thoughts. 

That the pirate raid which elevated Riv was staged, comes as no surprise. It was a very well-planned operation; and there are no real coincidences. More surprising for me was that he abandoned his post to chase after me - but the answer for that question was found for me by Fenris.

I snorted when I reached that part. The Qunari were really considering enlisting me at one point! My stunt when I saved Tessarian’s son got their attention and they sent Riv along to test the waters, so to speak. Of course, soon he realized that Void would sooner become tangible than I would in any way assist Qun philosophy in taking over Thedas. Ever since, he has remained by my side, reporting on my activities and stirring up trouble.

It is only luck that after Archivist’s death I became more conscious of the age of my companions. I have removed Riv from active duty; and thus, limited his access to information. He was unaware of my alter ego, Fea, and he remained in the dark as to the details of most of our operations. Even then, he caused a lot of damage. We did not restrict the information because of our lack of trust. On the contrary, he heard a lot of unofficial rumours and doubts, because he was so removed from the fray. 

And, as a person responsible for training our agents, he sneaked in a lot of Ben’Hassrath into our lower ranks. Fenris did initial purge of the hostile element while he was in Minrathous, but I have no doubt the results of our misplaced confidence will hound us for years to come. 

In hindsight, some of his behaviour was suspicious. His enthusiasm and stubborn attempts to get into my good graces. The man wouldn’t take no for an answer, and knowing male ego, I should have seen there was something wrong with it. No one feels like throwing themselves pointlessly against an immovable rock until they bleed; but Riv did. Then there was the fact that he carefully avoided expressing his opinions one way or another, regardless of the topic. It made him the neutral party who was often consulted for advice; a prime source of his information ever since he lost access to documents. 

I have also never really checked out the story he has fed us in regards to his departure from Rivain and arrival in Tevinter. I simply assumed there was nothing to be found; and truthfully, back in the day, my awareness of the Qunari was marginal. Obviously, they were much more interested in me. 

Riv’s pained howling begins rasping and dying out as his lungs lose air. The skin on his body shrivels, parts of it starting to peel off, like disgusting worms set on fire. Some of Wings in the back empty their stomachs, repulsed by the torture in front of them.

I fight off a wave of cough, and then nausea, as a gust of wind forces me to inhale smoke down my lungs. The odour of burning human is no easier to bear second time around; and I struggle to keep my nonchalant facade. At last Riv has lost his consciousness; there are no more screams to be heard. His breath rises heavily, choking on the fumes of his own body being slowly devoured by the flames.

I pour more mana into the glyph to speed up the process a bit. Fire grows stronger and brighter, fuelled by my magic, and soon it is over.

Nervlis dismisses my Wings. I do not hear their departure, focused on removing all traces of the glyph from the air. I unhurriedly return to the fortress, where a small crowd has gathered near gates. Clearly they are waiting for me.

I knew Leliana would send someone to watch our gathering; but I did not expect anyone to confront me about it. Clearly, I’ve been wrong about that; I spy Ellana in the crowd, all puffed up in righteous anger. She does not hesitate stepping in front of the group, and seizing me up disdainfully.

‘Is it true you’ve just burned somebody to death?’ She looks nauseous at the very thought.

‘Yes.’ I do not skirt away from the truth.

‘How could you?! I knew you were a heartless beast, but there should be a limit to your barbarism! Surely there was another method!’ Ellana shakes her head in disbelief, all but shouting at me her virtuous nonsense.

A small smile plays on my lips, and I can’t resist provoking her further. 

‘Believe me, that was actually kinder punishment than what I have initially had in mind.’

She looks at a loss of words for a moment, and I fight off a chuckle. It is all the more sweet I am not even lying - I had intended something much worse. It is only that we were surrounded by Inquisition forces that I did not follow through with demon summoning… And I am a bit miffed I was forced to account for their presence while making my decision.

‘You rabid bitch!’ Ellana snaps out of her stupefaction, and snarls angrily. ‘Sylaise help me understand how anyone would entrust their fate to your hands! You are completely insane, you know that?’

I am smiling more and more widely throughout her outburst, quite entertained, but Nervlis at my back shuffles with clear annoyance.

‘Inquisitor, you would do well to leave alone matters beyond your understanding.’ He growls in subtle warning, and I reach blindly to squeeze his hand in reassurance. Creators would sooner torn this world asunder before I let Dalish child affect me in any way.

‘I can’t believe you are defending her! The man was your comrade!’ Ellana turns her claws on Nervlis. I suddenly stop feeling amused, and take a step in her direction with a dangerous glint in my eyes.

‘Shut up and leave my people alone, or I will make you regret it.’ I feel a flash of satisfaction, seeing her backing away from me and cowering a bit. We might be unwilling allies throughout this, but I’d be damned before letting her walk over one of my own.

‘Now, now, ladies, there’s no need to go that far.’ Varrick laughs uneasily, trying to diffuse tension between us. Clearly he saw that Ellana was pushing it dangerously close to things I wouldn’t let go - wise dwarf.

‘Once again we find ourselves in complete accord, Master Tethras.’ My wolf strides into the open space, chiding me for my behaviour with slightly narrowed eyes.  

I suddenly lose my brazen confidence, as the light steps of my beloved bring him closer to us. I square my shoulders in false bravado, daring him to judge me - for I know that Fen will disapprove my actions. It is a gut-wrenching certainty, but I won’t apologise for who I am.

But he completely dismisses the topic, as if it was of no concern to him. I am stumped by his easy avoidance, and wonder whether he cannot bring himself to fully face what I’ve become… Whether he would like to pretend I remain as I used to be, noble and naive and kind. It is uncomfortable thought, especially since I remember that was what attracted him to Ellana.

‘Let’s not make a habit of such displays. It is a terrible thing for unity and morale, wouldn’t you agree?’

Ellana turns away with embarrassed flush, muttering unintelligible agreement under her nose. He turns to me with raised eyebrow, clearly expecting deference. But I challenge him to order me around; especially since I do not feel like I’ve done anything warranting Inquisitor’s interference. How I deal with my people is none of her business.

_ ‘Pride.’ _ Fen sighs in clear exasperation.

_ ‘Get off my back, Fen. She started it.’ _

_ ‘Then be the bigger person and forgive her.’  _ My wolf snorts with impatience.  _ ‘You are far too sophisticated to involve yourself in such pointless debacles.’ _

_ ‘I simply refuse to be cowed by stupid child who doesn’t know any better. And really, she is your problem, not mine. You deal with her.’  _

Nervlis looks at me curiously, as I turn around and return to my quarters. Clearly he is not the only one, for there’s suddenly a lot of people gathered in my office, all with a question in their eyes. I pretend not to see, hoping they would get the hint and walk away… But no such luck.

Valeria clears her throat, and asks,

‘So, mamae. Who is the man?’

I run a hand over my face, suddenly inexplicably tired. I absolutely hate explaining myself before others; and really, it is none of their business.

But I know them well; and they would not take kindly to being brushed off. Neither would it end at that; Valeria and Bethany would just continue pestering me for hours until I gave up. And Arissar with Fenris would just start digging for information - which is even worse.

So I face their expectant stares, and own up the truth.

‘The better half of my soul.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, who expected that? The hints were there, pointing in the right direction, but I guess the lot of you still expected Valeria, didn't you?  
> Truthfully, Valeria would suck as a spy in Wings. She was far too outspoken about her disagreements, and drew Fean'Na's attention with her action. The good spy is someone we least expect; someone who both has our trust and is considered harmless.  
> At least that's how the spy novels depict it (I do not have experience with the issue myself). But I agree, it is a logical step.  
> The chapter was rather unpleasant to write, to be honest, since I had to show the little cracks in Fean'Na's and Fen's relationship. It will not be a smooth ride for them, even though you will find out most of it during the sequel.


	55. Trustworthy Pride

‘That sounded almost romantic, mamae.’ Valeria says. Words ‘completely unlike you’ do not need to be said out loud.

I raise my eyebrow sardonically, unwilling to delve into details. My and Fen’s sordid past needs to stay buried, at least until he has accomplished whatever it is he has to do. My Wings pick up on the not-so-hidden message, and with their curiosity partially sated, leave it at that.

On the edge of my awareness lingers uncertainty; for Fen has not shared his goals with me, so far.

But then there are plenty things I haven’t told him, as well.

With the Adamant matter done and over with, Wings are to return to Tevinter. The Inquisition is to remain for a while longer, dealing with the Warden matter.

The Wardens surrendered themselves to Inquisitor’s judgement. Those that survived the battle, that is - surprisingly, quite a large number. Ellana did not skimp with her generosity, immediately absolving them of guilt while looking at me defiantly. I was amused she thought I would care at all.

It was pretty reckless on her part. Not only Wardens were deeply involved in the scheme which cost Justinia’s life, but it was done willingly. They knew better than anyone who - what - Corypheus was. It was impossible to say which ones were truly remorseful and deceived, and which ones were there to remain as spies for magister. I was pretty sure Leliana would have headaches for weeks to come, trying to separate the latters from the fray.

Cassandra was also quite unhappy with Ellana’s decision. She used to be close with Justinia, as I understand it. It was hard for her seeing them simply let go, unpunished.

The evening before our departure I boldly sneak into Fen’s quarters, which he shares with Varrick. We’ve barely had time for one another in these hectic days; his skill as a healer in high demand, and my position putting me in the forefront whenever something went crashing down. I had a nagging suspicion Ellana gleefully pushed whatever she could my way. I didn’t mind it so much, since this way I could ensure things were actually done properly.

The dwarf is sound asleep, soft snores coming from his side of the room. Fen, on the other hand, is engrossed in a book, reading to weak candle light on his bed. I tug delicately at his sleeve, and he turns around, his stormy eyes glowing brilliantly in the dark. I flush a bit under his gaze, unexpectedly bashful and self-conscious.

My dearest wolf smiles at the sight of me, just the slightest tug in a corner of his mouth. I can read him pretty well. Unexpectedly Fen catches my hand and pulls me closer; startled, I loose my balance and fall into his lap. The book, forgotten, falls from between us as he kisses me hungrily. There’s a familiar honeyed sweetness of our tongues dancing, shared breaths and  I feel like I’m drunk on him, and flying. One of his hands tangles into my hair, and I shiver while he adjusts his grip on my nape, not once letting go,

For a while I let myself get carried away, lost in myriad of emotions he brings out in me. I have never been particularly emotional creature; life in Thedas successfully beat out most human reactions out of me. But Fen I trust.

Cradling me closer, his hand makes soothing motions at my back, pulling my waist even closer - I barely bite back a pleasured moan.

‘ _Fen!’_ I scold him breathlessly. He grins, unrepentant, attempting to draw me in again. However I shake my head pulling back, recalling the reason why I came.

_‘We need to talk.’_

Sighing with open regret, he nods, and allows me to disentangle myself from him.

I might hate deserts, with their heat and sand and lack of refuge. It’s just not my kind of climate, I feel stifled and restrained. But the skies in Thedas are beautiful, wherever one looks at them. Clear and embroidered with random shapes the distant stars create, calming the observer even while scarred by the barely healed hole. I could look up endlessly, marvelling at the ever-changing shapes of clouds and lights. Even though I experience a pang of regret, missing the unique green of the Fade which used to coat it all.

Hand in hand we walk unhurriedly away from Adamant, ducking into shadows to hide from passing patrols. With both of our senses stretched, we cross their routes undisturbed. Stopping under formation of rocks in Adamant’s shade, I finally end my procrastinating and state what I’ve come to tell him.  

_‘I can’t return to Skyhold.’_

_‘I know.’_ Fen nods with a note of wistfulness. _‘It would be far too dangerous for you. And that is not even taking in consideration Ellana’s wrath.’_ He shakes his head with irritation. _‘She is surprisingly vehement in her dislike of you.’_

Recalling what I’ve heard, I smirk slightly.

_‘I’ve heard. She did sound a bit irked.’_

_‘I knew you were there.’_ Fen ruffles my hair a bit, reminding me I could never really surprise him.

Ellana has ambushed my wolf sometime during the week, vehemently demanding an explanation what in the Void does he see in me. She was careless enough to do it in a not-so-secluded location, and accidentally I was passing by when I had heard their raised voices. I literally run into them, jumping behind a pile of rubble at the last possible moment before they saw me. I kind of wanted to know what Fen thought of it all, but obviously it was too much to expect for him to not catch onto my presence. True to his nature, he responded with ambiguous nothings, and I was left with vague disappointment warring with relief. I was glad he did not consider Ellana important enough to share; but on the other hand, having him put her in her place would have been very satisfying.

 _‘I think the child considers herself much more important than she really is.’_ I muse out loud, stealing a curious glance at Fen.

 _‘You are correct.’_ Fen nods to my words. _‘But for the moment, Ellana is necessary for my plans.’_ The warning in his voice is plain, and I tilt my head in consideration, wondering how it came about. I am glad he is sharing even this little; and I wouldn’t want him regretting the trust he has finally begun putting in me.

_‘Then it is all the more important I remove myself from the equation.’_

_‘Do try not to antagonize her more than necessary.’_ My wolf phrases the last words with a hint of sarcasm, and I roll my eyes at him. It’s not like I’m doing it on purpose - much. Me and Ellana never saw eye to eye; our values are fundamentally different. I prize survival and practicality above sentiments and honour. But in Inquisition, Ellana is sheltered from making these kinds of decisions, Leliana bearing the full burden of ruthlessness that is often required in our position. I doubt the Inquisitor is even aware that this kind of things are happening; and I wonder how will she fare once forced to confront reality. I pity her a bit. Her shock when the illusion around her comes crashing down will be severe.

But it is not my problem.

 _‘I’ll miss you.’_ I admit quietly, and his gaze softens. Squeezing my hand in tender reassurance, he embraces me, kissing my hair and putting his chin on top of my head. My eyelids close as I breathe in his familiar scent - masculinity infused with power and a wildness, one that is distinctly him. I’ve been alone for so long…

But the passage of time is inevitable, and come morning we depart to Minrathous. I leave Valeria behind as Wings’ liaison within Inquisition - our treaty remains intact, in spite of my and Ellana’s juvenile spats.

I had a hard time deciding who would fit the bill. Bethany is sick of remaining in Skyhold, and eager to go with Arissar to Rivain which is his next post; they haven’t seen each other for a long time. Obviously the opposite was out of question. I wasn’t about to feed my Qunari to the wolves by sending him to Inquisition’s fortress, literally overflowing with Ben’Hassrath agents. I was also reluctant to part with Fenris; I needed him back at home to clean the rest of Riv’s mess.

I was really at my wits end how to solve this conundrum when my daughter offered herself up for position. My eyebrows rose in surprise, and I sent a surreptitious glance at Nervlis. But my right hand remained calmly impassive, so Valeria’s intentions must have been previously known to him. I reminded myself to talk with Nervlis about this at some point; clearly there’s something I’m missing in the story. But for now, I accepted her offer gratefully, aware that she would do just fine.

The journey back home is filled with constant reshuffling and changes in our forces, as one after another contingents split away to get back to their posts. Arissar and Bethany are the first ones to depart, two lone figures in the distance making their way to Antiva. I regret being unable to send guards with them, feeling somewhat paranoiac about my closest associate’s safety ever since Ebareth’s and Esme’s tragedy. But Arissar stares me down and calmly reminds me it is much safer for them to be travelling incognito than attracting attention; and that I should know better. I have been the one to constantly hold this argument over their heads when it came to my own escapades, after all.

I sternly remind people stationed in Solas to continue searching for the missing captives from Ferelden Mage Circles - a leverage Corypheus certainly holds over their noble parents. It is the one thing that needs to be solved - and fast. Our standing in Ferelden remains shaky after the mess in Denerim and I am eager to improve relations.

Minrathous greets us with ruckus and familiar arrogance, expressed in the off-putting behaviour of bored guards and haughty expressions of nobles. I breathe in the salty air, glad to be home. I missed it a lot; especially forced to deal on daily basis with Orleasian gaudiness.

Tasha has kept affairs quiet during our absence. She takes one look at our entourage, and turns her head away to hide tearing eyes. I knew she had her suspicions, but we often keep hoping we are wrong when it comes to unpleasant reality. Ryanth immediately reaches to her in comfort, and I wordlessly allow them their privacy, sending people away with a wave of my hand.

I delegate Fiona to get Hawke settled and acquainted with his tasks. Once he becomes more comfortable in the city, as well as learns more Tevinter, I will give him to Nervlis to handle. For now, he is a probationary assistant to anyone who needs anything at all.

I do not have spare time on my hands to babysit newcomers; there are much less pleasant tasks ahead of me.

Politicking in Minrathous is very time-consuming and I usually avoid it like demonic summonings, glad to let Tessarian bear the brunt of it. But with our official alliance to the Inquisition, I have a lot of damage control in front of me. The Inquisition, as an organisation strongly linked with the White Divine, is perceived with negative scepticism here. They have far too many contacts and put their hands in too many cookie jars for local autocrat’s piece of mind.

Which is one of the many reasons why I wished to avoid official affiliation.

The documents I’ve brought from Kont-aar have bought me some goodwill with the Archon, but it is nowhere near enough. I use a lot of our carefully collected leverages to secure meetings with Radonis in order to reassure him of my organisation's allegiance. He has always turned a blind eye to our battle with slavery, and it is vastly important that he doesn’t feel threatened by us. Fortunately, I do have a great bargaining tool, which finally tips the scales in our favour - solution to saar-qamek. Radonis is an intelligent man and after a presentation of poison’s potential, more than convinced that Wings are still acting in Empire’s favour once I give him the recipe for the antidote without any additional bargaining.

I’m itching to get out of Minrathous once the deed is finally accomplished. Two months of being tied in one place, without much activity whatsoever - I do not call clandestine meetings behind closed doors an **activity** \- and I am going stir crazy. When my Solas’ Wings get back to me with a report stating they have found what we were looking for, I jump at the opportunity. With barely a word, I am out of the gates, rushing to get hold of the situation. Fenris catches up to me just before I reach my goal, snarling with annoyance at being left behind. I seize him up with ironical smirk, both of us knowing full well that with my leg healed there’s no need for him to bodyguard me anymore - I already outpace him. Still, my mood after leaving the confines of Minrathous is much improved, so I placidly allow him to remain at my side.

The raid itself isn’t much to speak of. Corypheus has left the place largely unattended, secure mostly by its remote location. Breaching the decrepit walls is a piece of cake, and once these are taken, result of the battle is a foregone conclusion.

We find surprisingly many people of varied ages in the holding cells. They come from all-over Thedas, and suddenly undead magister’s connections are not so surprising anymore. It forces me to split my forces in two escorts - one headed in Antiva’s direction, stopping by in Nevarra, and the other travelling through Kirkwall, catching transport to Denerim. Fenris grumbles at being sent away - again - while I send a message to stop Isabela from leaving for a couple more days. She is the one to recently keep tabs on and off on our Kirkwall detachment.

My letter reaches our local pirate in time; and we have a vessel to transport our charges. They were kept in relatively decent conditions; Corypheus needed them alive. Still, prolonged imprisonment reduced their physical fitness; and since some of them were relatively young, I wanted their journey to be in best conditions. Isabela’s ship was just the luxurious, safe haven that would help them recuperate before reaching their families.

We have apprehended the ship from Catillon, and Isabela claimed it as her due for ‘nightmares which dealing with that swine left me with.’ No one argued with her right to get even; and since none of my companions had much fondness for sea, we were glad to leave it to her. The ship was equipped with cabins upholstered with velvet; a large bath and other ridiculous amenities; it was used more as a stationary gambling den and brothel than for actual travelling. Isabela got rid of the more impractical features, and outfitted it to make it useful - but the velvety cabins remained. She winked obscenely when I asked her whether she ever made use of them; and I did not have any more questions.

Our guests safely tucked in, I gladly retire to Isabela’s cabin, where she awaits me with an open bottle of the best rum on Thedas.

‘So. I’ve heard you roped Hawke into joining in.’ Her tone is nonchalant, but she is betrayed by her fingers tapping and playing nervously on the table. I hide a smile and reply, keeping my voice even.

‘I did.’

‘I know that Hawke is beyond capable. And we took a big hit recently. But... I can’t help wondering... Why?’

You just answered your own question, dear, I think amusedly. But really, it is not at all about Hawke’s competences, and I know what she wants to hear.

‘Talk to him, Isabela.’

‘What?!’ The pirate raises from her seat, and begins pacing nervously. I can’t help but admire her steady gait while the ship is rocks on the waves. ‘No. No, I couldn’t. I would strangle the man on sight after what he has done to me.’

‘Then do it.’ I suggest with a smirk, and she sends me a startled glance, clearly astounded by my unexpected suggestion. Her parted lips betray she couldn’t really injure him, in spite of her own hurt. I am a bit flabbergasted by the devotion these two notorious flirts have for one another, even after all these years and a rather traumatic breakup.

‘Seriously though, it will do you good to finally close that chapter. And then, who knows…’ I shrug, taking another sip of the alcohol. ‘Possibilities are endless.’

‘Are they really?’ She looks at me keenly, and my heart swells with warmth. It is cute, seeing the usually brazen Isabela so uncertain. Seeking my, of all people, reassurance.

‘Remember this, Isabela - Hawke chose to come. No one forced him.’ I empty the reminder of my glass, and leave her to think my words through.

Our conversation lifts my spirits - I find it all incredibly endearing, and am fairly confident that both of them will find their way again. Not only they are very determined people, but both of them really want it.

Denerim is a similarly unwelcome sight as it always have been; but the people I have freed from Corypheus dungeon visibly perk up as we enter the port. Arranging an audience with King Alistair takes a couple of days, but once we get his attention, all other matters are resolved satisfactorily. The King is suitably concerned by the issue, and takes it upon himself to arrange for all of the freed people to reach their families. Once that is done, we spend a couple hours behind the closed doors, establishing the groundwork for an alliance. While Wings are, and always will be officially the Empire’s organisation, Ferelden has offered refuge for many of the people who crossed the line of law one time too many. King Alistair and Queen Anora reassure me that my people can continue this practice, and I am officially granted a title of a Friend to the Crown. It will allow me to see either one of them on no notice at all; and might prove useful one day.

I say my goodbyes to the people we’ve saved the following day. There are some tears on their part, both of gratitude and sadness due to our parting. I feel incredibly awkward, petting one of the wailing females while the children cling to my legs, refusing to let go.

My eyes scream for help to fellow Wings who came with me as an escort. Smiling under their noses, they disentangle the red-faced people from me, and I reassure them once again that they will get to their homes safely. Their King and Queen will take care of it.

I leave Ferelden borders with a satisfaction of a job well done. Not only have I gained the gratitude of the Crown; but also should it come to this, I fully believe the people we have rescued will come to our assistance. I order my Denerim Wings to keep an eye on them and cultivate the relationship; no one really knows when such things could become useful.

Unable to refuse myself this small pleasure, I choose the longer route, dropping by Skyhold to visit Fen. I am not overly surprised to see him waiting for me in the gates - clearly he has set up some early warning system, identifying those approaching. Obviously, identifying it is beyond me, but I am surprised I hadn’t felt anything at all while crossing it. A mystery.

Fen picks me up off the horse, and pulls me into sweet kiss while still holding me up in the air; completely uncaring of the fact we are out in the open. His behaviour borders on indecent, and I remind him about propriety with a light tug on his hand. With a martyred sigh, he puts me on the ground and leads my mount away to the stables.

Valeria is clearly surprised at the sight of me on the courtyard, but schools her face into neutrality almost immediately. Ellana, on the other hand, looks to be spitting mad; and I have to hold back a chuckle, keeping my promise with Fen in mind. I will not purposely rile her up; even though it is so easy and **fun**.

It’s not as if I don’t get where she is coming from. Ellana’s jealousy - and irritability - is easily understandable. Fen is clearly past caring for her emotional well-being, unrestrained in showering me with affection. I do not know whether he is annoyed with her, and that’s why he is so… on display, or whether he thinks she needs to be bluntly hammered down to get the point. Nonetheless, he does not hold back anymore, and I can see it hurts her. I know it hurt me, each time he showed me his preference of her - and we merely misunderstood each other. How much worse must it be for her, when she knows Fen’ll never be hers?

Even though my visit in Skyhold has been for selfish reasons, I visit Leliana and debrief her on the found Ferelden captives. I do not delve too deeply into details, censoring the story pretty harshly, since I do not want her to know of additional advantages Wings have over Ferelden. But the most important piece of information - Corypheus lost footing in the country - is communicated.

Leliana nods, keeping her face closed off. Both of us are aware I am not telling her everything; but she lets it go, aware I did not have to inform her of anything at all. Our treaty was purposely vague in the ‘sharing of the information’ part; both sides want to play it dirty. Since that is the case, she cannot very well call me out on it.

On my way to Fen’s room, I bump into a long-unseen friend.

‘Cole! Where have you been wandering? I haven’t seen you for a long time.’ I exclaim enthusiastically, happy at the sight of him. While the spirit’s often incomprehensible thought processes can be trying, his unassuming presence is always a pleasure to be have. I kind of missed him, in spite of the hectic schedule.

‘I’ve been around.’ The boy smiles with innocent sweetness, and I respond in kind, disarmed by so typical for him nonsensical reply. ‘I didn’t want to trouble you.’

‘What do you mean by that?’ I frown without understanding.

‘The wolf was not happy when I hung near you too much.’

‘Fen? Surely, you must be wrong. He is perfectly aware of your nature; he wouldn’t be jealous. That’s just unreasonable.’

‘I don't think **feelings** are very reasonable.’ Cole replies with unerring logic, and I nod in agreement. He certainly has a point here. ‘I am constantly getting confused by them. People can feel so many things all at once; and sometimes these are completely contradictory!’

I burst out laughing, and attempt to explain that sometimes, people have an ambiguous attitude towards things. They simply don't know what they really want. But I do not think Cole with his straightforward nature really gets it.

‘Pride.’ He interrupts my explanations, before they can get any more convoluted. ‘I need help.’

I am startled into silence by his words, and drawing a deep breath, immediately become more attentive.

‘Go on.’ I urge him. ‘Anything, Cole.’

‘I want you to bind me.’

‘Are you serious?’ My mind can't wrap itself around his suggestion. Really, out of all things to ask...

‘Yes.’ He begins pacing nervously, and it is so unlike him I am getting really worried - as if his plea was not worrisome enough.

‘We tried a ritual which would protect me from being bound by others… But it failed.’ He shakes his head rapidly, an edge of panic in his voice. ‘It failed, Pride. I don’t want to become a monster.’

‘And you won’t.’ I force my voice to be calmly certain, and he looks at me.

‘Will you do it?’

I bite my lip, torn.

‘I need to talk it over with Fen. He is much better acquainted with spirits; I have to know all of the consequences.’

‘Don’t!’ Suddenly, Cole is by my side, grasping my hand. I blink, startled by his rapid movement. He so rarely uses his abilities outside battlefield… ‘He will talk you out of it, I know he will! And then you won’t want to help me anymore.’

‘Cole.’ I draw him in a hug. ‘I will not let Fen talk me out of anything, I promise. I just have to know more about the situation before making any sort of decision. That’s all.’

‘Promise?’ He looks so much like a kicked puppy, so sweet and pitiful, I ruffle his hair affectionately.

‘I promise. I will not let anything happen to you.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was very happy, Pride reached over 1000 kudos. Your comments and support give me a lot of motivation to continue, and to express my gratitude, I have squeezed in some time, and got a chapter done early. It is a bit rough around the edges, but since I won't have internet during weekend, I wanted to get it out before monday. I love hearing from you, and I hope you will continue reading my story. 
> 
> So. Cole is back - no, I haven't forgotten him. Pride is a bit happier in this chapter, I gave her a little breather from all the guilt and darkness in her life. Hawke and Isabela are back on track - or getting there. Fenris is being his unbelieveably hot, surly self (I was actually considering hooking him up with Pride at one point but it just never worked out in my eyes. Even though he is damn hot. He has too many issues, and Pride had burned herself with Shartan - she is not stupid enough to make the same mistake twice)


	56. Incomprehensible Pride

Entering Fen’s quarters, I question the wisdom of my declaration to Cole. I know I won’t get back on my word to him; but I kind of wish I hadn’t said anything. Clearly, Cole and my wolf are of differing opinions how to deal with the issue; and I do not like getting in the middle of such disputes. With a heavy sigh I push the door to his quarters open, and am startled into standing still at the entrance.

Both Varric Tethras and Ellana are within, and clearly they and Fen are at a major disagreement, reading from their body language. The tension in the air is thick and sparkling; and I seriously debate with myself coming at a different time. Cole solves my dilemma for me, walking right in the middle of the contestants and stating challengingly.

‘I found someone who **wants** to help.’

Three sets of frowns are directed at me, and I stiffen slightly. You sure do how to resolve conflicts, dear spirit. I wish you would not generate different ones at the same time, though.

The emotional undercurrent of his words leaves no one in any doubt that he is not happy with them picking his fate apart. I can relate to that, and brace myself for the clearly very-much necessary intervention.

Proceeding inside Fen’s room, and deftly ignoring Ellana’s burning antipathy, I ask my wolf.

‘What are the consequences of binding a spirit to someone?’

 _‘I should have known he would go straight to you.’_ Fen mutters under his nose, adding a couple of curses in Ancient Elven. Or at least I assume he is cursing, because the words he is using are so old and obscure, they were long out of use even when I was learning the language. ‘On the caster? If one does it properly, there are none. But Cole’s case is very unique in that he is **not** only a spirit; and as such we can’t really predict the result.’

‘Which is why we should search for a way to make him fully human instead of magically chaining him to one thing or another!’ Varrick interjects with a raised voice. I tilt my head, expressing my surprise - he isn’t one to let his emotions get better of him. Usually.

‘And I am telling you that Cole should not deny his true nature!’ Fen snaps back immediately. Ellana wavers indecisively, clearly of no opinion one way or the other while males return to glaring at one another. I roll my eyes in irritation.

‘How about we ask Cole what he wants, instead of behaving as if he isn’t here?’ I keep my voice mild, in spite of the raging inferno of emotions behind it. Really, they are being ridiculous.

‘He is no more than a child, if we likened him to normal mortals; and as such cannot make responsible decisions.’ Fen dismisses the notion outright. Sudden anger burns within me as I am forcibly reminded of his nearly identical reaction in a eerily alike case - some five thousand years ago, give or take.

‘And you are an expert at making such decisions for others.’ I speak coldly, adding sarcastically. ‘Let us all bow before your superiority, oh infallible wolf.’

‘Pride; there’s a time and place for smarting back and it decidedly is not now.’

‘Funny, I was thinking just the same in regards to you.’ I return his glare with just as much heat. ‘In any case, I have gotten the answers I needed. We can leave them to bicker in peace now, Cole.’

I need not say my decision out loud, for Cole can already read it from the surface of my thoughts. He skips out of the room behind me, his happiness so infectious I manage to refrain from slamming the door behind me. Although it is a close call.

Putting aside Fen’s insensitivity for the moment, I consider his words about Cole in more depth. I do not feel like there’s any real danger to my binding him; in fact, now that I look for it, I can see his similarity to how I used to be. Before Mythal in her benevolence condescended to granting me a physical body. Cole is a step further, obviously, having gained it through his own determination - but he still feels a bit like myself. Neither here, nor there; stuck between the physical and ethereal world.

And Mythal has managed to bind me just fine; there’s no way in the world I could ever forget that.

I do not think there’s anything particularly wrong with that; neither do I think Cole should be forced to choose between one or the other. Who is Fen to decide it unnatural? And who is Varrick, to claim that making Cole into a fully-fledged mortal would be for his benefit? In the end, none of their opinions matter in the least; for it should be Cole’s decision.

And he chose me and the third option.

I find my way to the quarters Leliana has graciously allowed me to have during this visit, going over the list of things I’ll need to prepare a binding. First, a reference text - I haven’t done anything akin to blood magic in centuries and my memory is somewhat patchy when it comes to the fine details of such endeavour. Second…

My train of thought gets broken when I realize there’s someone waiting for me inside my room. Closing the door behind me and securing it with a lock, I cross my arms and prepare myself for yet another lecture from Valeria.

‘I sincerely hope you are here for an actual reason, and not simply to visit your lover.’ She does not waste time hurling another set of accusations at me.

‘Even if that was the case it is none of your business.’ I force myself to relax my hands and let them fall to my sides, refusing to let her get to me. There’s something very hurt in the back of her voice, and offhandedly I wonder where and when exactly did we go wrong. But there’s not much heat to it; I’ve long stopped trying to bridge this gap. It’s pretty much pointless, since Valeria has never once reached back. Now, not even anger remains - I am simply resigned to this conflict between us.

I have to remain content with the fact that for all her pent up emotions which she has never really explained, Valeria still considers me her mother.

‘The others are counting on me to keep you focused on your duties; gods know you do not listen to any of them.’ She snaps angrily, as I begin rummaging through my backpack to check my supplies.

‘Not really.’ I murmur distractedly, counting my throwing knives. ‘You took it up on your own; no one else has much of a problem with my wanderings.’

‘That’s because you simply do not appreciate how much is done to keep you safe!’ Valeria is clearly unused to my nonchalant treatment of her outbursts, and lets on more than she intended.

I narrow my eyes, and whirl around to face her.

‘What exactly do you mean by that?’ I keep my voice deceptively calm, while an inferno of conflicting feelings rages within me. Is it another of these things that Nervlis has kept from me... **for my own good**? Rage begins winning out over confusion, and my gaze sharpens.

‘You know full well what I meant.’ Valeria deflects sloppily, before extrapolating under my unyielding stare. ‘We have sacrificed so many of our resources to create Fea, and yet you just had to go and play a scout in this nest of vipers simply to be with your old flame! If you wanted to support them, we could have gone about this officially, without exposing you to any danger, and if you wanted to pick it up with him again, a letter would have sufficed.’

While her words are not without logic, I can sense this is not what she had thought of when she spoke in anger. I wonder whether to call her on her lie; and whether she would tell me anything at all if I did. Finally deciding against that, I direct the conversation to another topic - surely just as sore to her as the previous one.

‘You do not have to vent your frustration with Fen’s silence in regards to our relationship on me. It is, after all, rather unlikely it will convince me to share anything.’ I point out snidely, and her hands clench into fists.

Got you. I knew she would try getting through to Fen, just as I was certain he would evade her inquisition even more skilfully than I did.

‘I would not have to pry if you actually spoke about yourself. At all. You know, like normal people do?’ Valeria grunts out, her jaw taunt and cheeks flushed. I smirk slightly, thoroughly entertained by her discomfort, noting sardonically.

‘I have never claimed to be **normal.** ’

And with that, I turn my back to her dismissively, knowing nothing will enrage her quite as much as this enigmatic statement, which says nothing at all. Fuming, Valeria leaves the room - I wince at the loud bang of the door behind her.

Maybe taunting her isn’t particularly nice - or mature - thing to do; but I have tried literally anything to get through to her, without results. I have lived with guilt at somehow failing her for years before finally discarding it in favour of getting on with my life. There were plenty worse things in my past than getting in conflict with one young woman; and just because it hurt so much more than the other stuff, well. Life has never been particularly kind or fair for me - if it had, I would not have ended up stranded in this world in the first place.

But it is not the end of drama for the day; sometime after the dinner bell rings across the courtyard, recalling people from their duties for the first mess break, there’s a soft knock on my door. Flaying my aura a bit, I recognize the one-of-a-kind bundle of power wrapped in a sickly package. With a sigh - I am so Gods damn it tired; I call out for Fen to enter.

There’s hesitancy in his moves as he prowls my room in circles nervously, before finally looking me in the eyes.

 _‘I know you would rather I left you to your solitude, but I could not help my concern. Your question - it was purely theoretical, right? You haven’t practiced any blood magic, surely.’_ But there’s no certainty in his voice, when he tries to convince himself that he worried for nothing. I turn my gaze away from him, letting my silence speak for itself.

 _‘Pride!’_ His tone is full of reproof, and I rub my forehead tiredly.

_‘It is a tool like any other; it just requires more caution than usual. Don’t tell me all that Chantry crap about it got to you, too.’_

_‘The Chantry teachings are a patchwork with more holes than substance, that is certainly true. But they got one thing right - it is dangerous. And your decision to assist Cole is pure recklessness - do reconsider.’_ Because you just know better, Fen? His tone of voice pisses me off, and I stop filtering my words so that they don’t hurt him.

 _‘Creators! Life is dangerous - doesn’t stop us from going on, does it? I have had enough of people making assumptions about me based on lacklustre perception of the situation. I really did not expect this of you, my wolf.’_ And if I let my disappointment in him be known, then what? He was the one who pushed for answers without regard for my feelings. Not my problem if he doesn’t like them.

Fen’s eyes flash angrily; he’s clearly not receptive to chastisements when he believes to be in the right. Normally, I would sympathise, for I am exactly the same - but my empathy with other living beings is shut down for the day; and I’m done caring and sparing other people’s feelings. Three arguments in a row can make one like that.

 _‘By refusing to divulge any information, you leave me no choice! Dodging any and all of the questions; what else I have left, besides assumptions?!’_ He catches my hand turning it outward and kisses the back of it; even in this tense situation, it sends a shiver of pleasure through my body. _‘Trust me, Pride.’_

 _‘When you do.’_ I reply scathingly. Looking straight into the storm of his eyes, I remain firm in my conviction. _‘What are you really doing here, Fen? What is the purpose of your game?’_

The questions have plagued me ever since our meeting on the Wastes. Fen knew well I wanted to understand. And now he claims I’m the secretive one?

See, and there he goes again, averting his eyes and not letting me in. I growl in frustration and rip my hand away from his grasp.

_‘I think it’s better if you leave.’_

Fen has a pained expression on his face, and nods rapidly. I do not look at him anymore, focusing on keeping myself together. Damn the wolf; he just had to go and pour a bucket of sand on my wounds.

It’s not particularly wise of me, but suddenly the last place I want to be is this stuffy room with only myself for a company. Grabbing my coat from the bed, I make my way to the tavern, where the usual crowd has taken up their typical spots.

Blackwall nods somberly in greeting - things have been a bit strained between us since my suggestion to leave the Wardens to their fate, but deep down he is a practical man. He knows there was nothing personal in my opinion; I was simply prioritizing the well-being of my people over a bunch of idiots in grey.

Sera is already half-drunk in spite of the early hour. She salutes me sloppily with her beer, spilling half of it on the ground in the process. I have to smile as she flops heavily on her backside having lost balance mid-spin. The girl could really use some moderation with spirits.

Varrick is, unusually for him, grim, glowering at the table with a sour face. I clap his arm lightly, pulling him out of his clearly unpleasant thoughts. He snaps into attention, and focuses on me.

‘Sorry you had to see that, Flash. I am usually better behaved, but Solas is just a very special kind of snowflake; he can sometimes rub me the wrong way like no one else.’

‘Yup. If Fen wants to be obnoxious, he is really a masterful pain in the ass.’ I agree with him readily, taking a sip of wine directly from the bottle. ‘I totally get where you are coming from.’

‘Oooh, did someone have a disagreement with Mr. Stick-in-his-ass?’ Sera twirls around to sit on my side of the bench, tripping and nearly falling straight on her nose - but both me and Blackwall reach to catch her before that comes to pass. ‘I’m fine, I’m fine, nothing happened!’

‘We do not agree on everything just because we are together, you know.’ I frown slightly, and swallow another mouthful of wine. A helpful voice in my head notes that if I am to get wasted, at least the wine’s quality fits my mood - both are rather poor. From the other side of tavern, Iron Bull observes me with daggers in his eyes; but I manage to disregard it almost as effortlessly as wine’s sourness.

‘You were so joined at the hip I thought even your thinking was synchronized!’ Sera laughs in my ear, her tongue tingling it lasciviously, on the edge of indecency. I push her away decisively.

‘No, Sera. Still not interested.’

‘Well, damn. Maybe next time.’ She pouts a bit, and I realize she is not quite as drunk as she played it up. Sneaky, sneaky thief.

The evening becomes something of a blur, as more and more alcohol gets poured around. Varric regains some of his usual humour, and regales us with witty, short stories from Kirkwall. Sera gets completely smashed, and I look at Blackwall with pity for he is the one who will have to get her back to the quarters once the fun is over. And the fact it is only two flights of stairs does not make it much better. I do not know when exactly it happens, but about half-way through the evening Ellana joins us, glaring at me a bit but otherwise remaining surprisingly civil. And once she comes, the remainder of her circle trails in, like a bunch of lost puppies looking for their owner. I snicker under my nose at my own creative comparison, even as Cassandra looks at me strangely.

My alcohol-induced haze lifts rapidly  as I sense Fen’s aura at the doorway. Varrick also quickly notices his presence, remarking on it sardonically,

‘My, my, I had not expected to ever see you take a single step inside this den of depravity, Chuckles.’

‘Do not exaggerate; I’ve been known to indulge in spirits from time to time.’ Fen replies calmly, but his gaze is fixed on my back. I do not need to look behind me to know it; the heat of it sends shivers down my spine.

‘Yes, like once in a millennium.’ I snark under my nose.

Fen skillfully maneuvers through a drunk crowd; not a single curse or threat is left in his wake. He unceremoniously shoves away softly snoring Sera to make place beside me on the bench. I pretend he is not there, until his hand sneaks over my waist and begins petting my side with a feather-like touch. Unable to ignore him anymore, I send him a cool glare, hissing,

‘What do you think you are doing?’

‘Getting your attention.’ He smirks slightly, before sobering up. ‘I’ve come to apologise.’

‘Are the end days upon us?’ My eyebrows rise in mockery.

Fen sighs heavily, and whispers softly in Elvhen.

_‘I deserved that. I am sorry Pride; for being insensitive towards your plight and for disregarding your suffering. I hadn’t meant for it to sound like I didn’t care.’_

_‘But it did. A thoughtless remark, but it hurt, damn you.’_ I reply just as quietly, pretending not to see the numerous curious glances at our not-so-very covert whispering. Fen usually has an impeccable sense of timing - what in the Void prompted him to have private conversations in the center of a freaking tavern?

 _‘And I am sorry for my undue assumptions. I should not have let my worry cloud my judgement.’_ He sighs again, and entwines our fingers under the table. I make no move to stop him, but neither am I particularly encouraging. The whole thing is a bit too fresh for me to let it go just like that.

As if sensing my thoughts, Fen adds.

_‘I was planning to give you space, but then I realized that it is highly likely you would be gone with the first light; since obviously the ritual can’t be done in the vicinity of local religious fanatics.’_

Well, there’s that. I had not considered it, but it is very likely he is right. I would have woken up, taken Cole along and disappeared into the woods.

At least this time he was actually thoughtful, instead of pushy like I assumed. With this in mind - and my heart melts a little at how well he knows me to predict my reaction - I forgive him. A small wound remains, but it will soon scab and get better.

_‘I’m still a not completely fine with what you had said, but it’ll pass. I just need some time.’_

He smiles, a familiar glint of mischief lighting up his features.

 _‘I know just the thing to improve your mood.’_ He stands up, and with an elaborate bow extends his hand. _‘A dance, my lady?’_

I take a look at the crowded room, and shake my head in disbelief. This is such an outrageous idea… But suddenly, a tune we had danced to in Winter Palace begins playing in the background, barely heard above the noise of numerous conversations. And my doubts completely dissipate, as if they have never been there.

Cheater. He had it all planned, of course. Taking his hand, I don’t know whether to feel impressed by his foresight or be irritated that I’m this predictable.

 _‘This is such a bad idea. I’m half-drunk and there is literally no space.’_ I say into his chest, as he begins leading me to the soft music.

My worries prove groundless as somehow, a small circle of emptiness around us is created; and I know that I could be completely out of my mind and still be able to dance with Fen. It has been many months - and before that, countless years - but our bodies remain completely in tune, fitting to one another in more and more complicated figures Fen weaves into our steps.

And it does not matter it is no ballroom but a dirty hovel; and that some instruments are slightly out of tune. In my head, I am hearing sounds from the much-happier time of my life - ironic, since at the time I did not see the happiness in front of me. At the time, I was eager to return home, whatever the cost. How priorities shift, when situation changes.

 _‘This is pretty ostentatious, for you.’_ I murmur into his neck when the dance brings us close again. I can feel, rather than see his smile.

_‘People are pretty out of it, Pride. They won’t remember enough to be suspicious, come morning. And even if they are - not only making you happy is much more important than this facade ever was; but also we are entering the endgame. While I would prefer to keep an eye on things, my presence in the Inquisition is no longer strictly necessary.’_

I blush slightly at his words, as always a bit breathless whenever he says sweet things like that. But even flustered, my mind continues analysing his words - it is much more than he has ever told me before. Endgame. It does have a strangely ominous ring to it - and I ought to be happy, right? It means Cory is going down… But instinctively I recognize the signs - it is the end of an era. Something will change; and I will have to weather it, survive the onslaught of a new dawn on Thedas.

In spite of the after-dance giddiness, some part of me quivers in fear. I have witnessed two world-shattering changes; the fall of Arlathan - although I have missed the actual end, I was there right in the thick of it; and fall of Tevinter. How will Thedas fare after Fen is through with it?

How I will fare?

Suddenly, Fen bends me to the ground, my body following his lead without any conscious input on my part. I realize it only after his eyes twinkle right in front of mine, and I breathe in his breath. And then my trepidation flees, as do all my other thoughts when his mouth cover mine. A wave of heat hits my body, and I tremble in his hands overcome with desire. I return his kiss a bit dizzily, my muscles still stretched in a dip just above the floor.

A loud whistle from the crowd clearly reminds Fen we are not, in fact, alone. He pulls me up, his mouth quivering with smile, and I lean in his embrace, my body turned liquid from our passion.

 _‘I am coming with you tomorrow.’_ He says into my ear, his voice low from desire. I nod breathlessly into his neck, unable to come up with coherent response.

That marks the end of my partying. I am far too flustered to remain; and I am definitely not in the mood to bear with teasing - or lewd - remarks from the crowd, which Fen has invited with his actions. He gallantly escorts me to my door, and before living bestows one last, knee-weakening kiss.

Needless to say, my mood is indeed much improved. Packing the few things I’ve brought doesn’t take long. Cole and Fen await me near the stables, both of them also prepared to leave. I do not ask how Cole knew of my plans - I can easily imagine his answer - I just did. And for him, it is that simple, skimming over surface thoughts of others to predict their actions.

Getting a hold on binding rituals would be a hassle almost anywhere in Thedas. Fortunately, in Tevinter, they aren’t bound by such superstitions - even though I have to admit they take it a bit too far in the opposite direction. And while Tevinter is far, I have long smuggled some of the restricted by the Chantry books to other Wings’ hideouts - just in case. Now, I bless my foresight, because getting to Minrathous would be a terrible waste of time.

We blitz into Val Royeaux Wings’ headquarters almost without stopping for any greetings; and decidedly without any explanations. Fortunately, most Wings are much more obedient than the ever-questioning Valeria and so we are not given any trouble.

We pour over the instructions together, Fen pointing to me the tricky parts and where I need to be careful not to mess up the flow of power. Together we come to agreement that the safest way for me would be to draw the most of the spell in a form of glyph instead of risking blind casting of such complicated nature.

Armed with the knowledge necessary to make things happen, we travel to Exalted Plains.  Fen leads us to a quiet, isolated place where the Veil is thinner - just as a precaution, Fen says. Especially since we have decided he will leave us during the ritual; his powerful aura could influence the whole thing in ways we can’t predict. Especially since in his weakened state he cannot manipulate it as easily as he did in the past.

I place down the glyph under Fen’s watchful eye, lacing it equal parts water, blood and mana. Once this is done, Fen tells me to wait for a while before beginning and leaves the glade.

Cole steps into the circle, and I ask him one last time.

‘Are you sure this is what you want?’

‘I trust you, Pride.’ Cole smiles with his childlike innocence, and my heart clenches at the sight. You really shouldn’t, little spirit - for I will use you without remorse if it will help me achieve my goals.

Clearly hearing my self-recriminations, Cole answers them calmly.

‘I know you will. I don’t mind being used, Pride. Not by you. Don’t be so harsh on yourself. I know what I am choosing.’

There’s no doubt in his voice nor in his clean gaze, and my shoulders slump. He is more certain of this than I am; and it would be diminishing his courage if I questioned him any longer. So I nod, and begin.

The power flows from my hands into the glyph, and Cole begins glowing. I bite my lip in concentration to keep it steadily stable - the glyph is there to push it in proper channels instead of me and my godforsaken blind eyes. But I need to ensure it gets a constant support; rushing it would destroy the crucial balance. It is much more complicated than any of the ones I’ve been using on daily basis, and some part of me is grateful for Fen and his assistance in creating it; I’m not sure if I could have managed it on my own. Certainly not so perfectly.

I can feel the bond forming between us, a growing awareness of him in the back of my mind. But somehow, it is different than I expected it to be - Cole doesn’t seem subservient to me in any way, nor is his presence overwhelming mine in any way the book described it would be. I do not have to fight for dominance over myself; Cole just settles gently in the corner of my soul, a soft light brightening me from within.

And just like that, the process is ending. I begin neatly cutting off the power, not too rapidly; and the blue glow settles around us with a final, quiet snap as the glyph evaporates from the ground.

Something in me awakens, and I find myself speaking words which cannot be mine, and yet somehow sound exactly like what I should say.

‘Welcome, child of Aether.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who is surprised by Pride's - Cole's - choice? I will be extrapolating on it in the next chapter a bit as well, but I wonder if any of you had guessed it?  
> A word of warning: I have a complete plan of what will happen until the end of Pride, and let me tell you, not many chapters remain. Or at least, not many events. But there will be sequel! I just intend to write is separately since in the end, Pride will get rewritten as 4-part story arc. There will be minor changes to the plotline, but I will - I already am - expanding on the parts I have treated to briefly in this story (Arlathan…). The reason why I wrote them like that in the beginning was because I was eager to get to the main story arc as fast as possible, but now that I read those chapters, I realize there was plenty of potential there to expand on Joanne’s - and not only Joanne’s - background. Her slow shift in character will be even more exposed once one knows more about who she was originally.  
> By the way, let me reassure you that Valeria is not being a bitch just because - there’s a proper explanation for her behaviour. She is just not ready to tell it to Fean’Na - but for the curious, there are some small hints in the story which can point you in the right direction.


	57. Empathic Pride

‘Was it supposed to be like this?’ Cole questions me intensely. I shrug helplessly, unsure of the answer.

‘It does not feel wrong, just… different than I expected.’ I don’t know who I am trying to reassure - him, or myself.

But that’s precisely what it is - unexpected. None of the book’s content prepared me for the warmth that is very like Cole, curling inside me and almost purring from satisfaction like a satisfied kitten. It feels so very right I am immediately suspicious.

For all our care, the binding was supposed to make Cole subservient to me. Only it clearly did not, for I do not feel like I can exert any control over him. Well, maybe I could but that would be only because he would want to fulfil my desires, and not because I acted against his will, enforcing my own. There’s also no struggle to keep him from overpowering me, just like there wasn’t any during the ritual itself - yet I do not feel like Cole is taking me over.

‘Let’s keep this to ourselves for now, Cole. I do not want Fen worrying when he has so much on his plate already.’ I say to the spirit, and can immediately sense his heartfelt agreement. Cole actually doesn’t like my wolf poking around him, treating him like a science experiment gone wrong. He tolerates it only because he feels he needs to, in order to remain with the Inquisition.

Huh. This will take some getting used to. I did not intend to look so far inside him; it just happened. I am apologetic for this unintentional invasion of his privacy, but immediately a wave of forgiveness and reassurance comes from him. Cole thought something like this could happen, and does not mind sharing it with me. He feels he has nothing to hide, not from me - and his certainty appeases my guilty conscience. To a degree.

The curious thing is that the link is mostly one way, for all its completeness reaching much further than the ritual should have allowed and at the same time restrictiveness in power it gives us over one another. Cole admits to being able to read me more easily than before, but at the same time he cannot push inside me the way I can with him. He cannot see more than the my surface thoughts and even those could be hidden if I so desired. Parts of my soul remain completely locked from him - and I am somewhat relieved he does not have to see all the darkness within me. He did not sign up for all the baggage I have stuffed in the deepest corners of my mind, pretending it’s not there.

If that’s the only aftereffect of the failed servant bond, then I am very glad it is this one. I recall with a wince Cole’s past reaction once he reached too far in, before I put my shields up - it wasn’t pretty.

There are things better left alone; and the nightmare of some of my experiences is one of them.

We set up a camp, acting in perfect accordance with one another; the constant awareness of what the other is doing and our intentions helping immensely in communication. Cole had trouble understanding what was expected of him in the past; somehow I feel it won’t be a problem anymore.

He confirms my thoughts.

‘You are grounding me, Pride.’

‘Grounding?’ I am not certain I fully understand his meaning. He delicately tugs at my soul, searching for the words to describe the situation.

‘I am more in touch with reality now; and if I am ever lost, I can always refer to your perception to define things. Even with the barrier you have between your painful memories and me, some general things pass through my way; and it’s enough to comprehend more. I see and think more clearly now; no longer so overwhelmed by other minds.’

That had to be the longest I’ve ever heard Cole speak in one go. I also immediately notice how his sentences are more rounded up and less disjointed; and while there are some awkward pauses here or there, he is really getting a hang of it.

‘I think… Maybe it was intended just like that. Maybe it was fated that the two of us met, to help settling each other.’

I smile, listening to him voice my own thoughts. It’s strange how something I never thought I needed helps so much; his mere existence within me lightening the burdens I carry. I touch him briefly, sending the warmth and gratitude along our bond.

Soon, Fen returns and questions us incessantly on the outcome. We juggle our answers between us, keeping up with the pretence of a regular ritual without much trouble. Finally reassured that both of us are perfectly fine, he shows me a couple of fishes he had acquired in the meantime.

 _‘I would have gone crazy with nothing to occupy me as I fretted; and fishing required the least input on my part.’_ Fen admits sheepishly, and I smile with understanding.

As we begin preparations for the meal, Fen notes with interest.

_‘But truthfully, you are the last person I would have expected to go through with the binding. Don’t you hate slavery in all forms more than anything?’_

I clean and chop up herbs we have found in the vicinity, rounding up the answer in my mind.

 _‘That is an oversimplification of both my feelings, and the situation.’_ I say finally, tapping the knife’s blunt edge against my chin. _‘I don’t think that chains we choose to put on ourselves make us slaves. Take my care for you - it is also a chain of a kind. You could, if you wanted, enforce your will upon me. Does that make me your slave?’_

 _‘A slave of Fen’Harel.’_ Fen jests, smirking slightly, and I can see he likes the sound of that. I wonder if he imagines all the things he could make me do if he dared to. The scoundrel.

But he is so endearing in his smugness, I am completely disarmed by it. I just shrug neutrally, refusing to comment on it. Instead I return to the previous topic, adding a closing remark to my past statements.

_‘I think the choice is what ultimately matters the most. There are many kinds of limitations we impose on ourselves - I’m bound to Wings, to you, to Tevinter… even to Inquisition, after a fashion, although that particular link I am very eager to sever. Cole had made his decision, and I think he stands by it.’_

‘I do.’ Cole interjects himself into our conversation, and we both startle slightly. We’ve forgotten that he has been there all along - more, I’ve forgotten that he can follow our conversation easily. Spirits aren’t bound by language barrier, capable of reading our surface thoughts, after all. And even though I doubt Cole could read Fen, with me he has no such troubles.

An awkward pause in our talk soon evolves into a free laugh. We exchange amused glances, both of us acknowledging we need to get used to the change of Cole being able to read us.

The carefree evening changes into a deep night, and Cole leaves us to our privacy as we speak sweet nothings into one another’s ear. Fen is curious about my Wings; and I tell him about them as they currently are, conveniently omitting how low I’ve been brought, before Fate had allowed me to meet Valeria. I pause before recalling how I used to see Riv before his treachery came to light - a tomcat, pouncing after females with suaveness and skill of a rake. I used to berate him about his rakish ways, telling him he might get burned one day. I recall those days with grim melancholy - I never expected to be the one doing the actual burning.

It is somehow liberating, sharing those early Wing days with Fen. A weight off my chest, when I speak of the long-gone Archivist who brought us all together - through trickery, cajoling and plain old stubbornness. How much more we’ve become than any of us expected. And how much less, at the same time.

I omit the gritty details. Fen avoided the topic, and I do not want to make things awkward; not when the night is this beautiful. He must know it is a heavily edited version, but it is more than I’ve been willing to say thus far.

The night is not too cold, and we drag out our beddings from tents and lay down under the open skies. Cuddling and talking, I do not realize when we fall asleep to each other’s steady heartbeat.

I wake up to Fen’s trashing by my side. Biting down on my lip with worry, I shake him awake, and he straightens up with widened eyes and unsteady breath. I put my hand over his in an attempt to soothe him, while he speaks sharply.

 _‘We have to go.’_ Fen pushes my hand away, and disentangles himself from the covers. I hide my hurt at being dismissed in such callous manner, agreeing with him docilely.

_‘Whatever you say.’_

Cole needs no instructions, reading my intentions through our bond. In record speed all of our stuff is packed, and we jump on our horses with Fen leading the way. He enforces a heavy tempo without much care for our mounts, explaining the situation briefly in a couple of curt sentences.

Apparently, one of his spirit friends got enslaved by a bunch of unscrupulous mages. Fen had heard her call for help and could not refuse his assistance. Or maybe didn’t want to? The lines blur, and suddenly I can’t read him completely.

I hear the anguish in his words, and push our mounts faster. There’s another depth to the story; and Cole at the other end of my bond alternates between shaking in fear like a spring leaf pulled apart by sudden storm, and clenching his fists in blistering anger. I shall not be bound in such manner, rings in his thoughts loud and clear. I have to forcefully displace myself from his emotions, spilling into mine.

When we reach the mages, a scene before us is a tragic sight - poor spirit of Wisdom became completely corrupted; engulfed in rage and pain, it turned into a demon. We pass the blustering humans, who beg us to help rid them of the calamity. I do not spare them even a moment of my attention, focusing on the demon on the stone-scattered plain. Even without Fen’s explicit instructions I know to disrupt the circle binding it; and as we release the chains it slowly returns to its previous, gentle form.

We are too late. The spirit’s essence has depleted too much throughout its rampage; and now, without anger to sustain it, the poor being withers away. Fen is completely heartbroken; and I turn my gaze away, not wanting to disrupt his pain.

But the mages decide to intrude upon his grieving with their misguided gratitude for their pathetic lives. I am forced to correct my initial assumption about them - they aren’t unscrupulous, merely moronic. Fen turns to them with violence in his eyes, casting me one cursory look. I shrug neutrally - far it be from me to deny him his justice.

That’s the only permission he needs - although why did he ask for one in the first place is beyond me - and with deliberate violence brimming from inside, Fen disposes of the three idiots responsible for his friend’s demise. They are slaughtered like pigs - helpless against their fate; butchered for the pleasure of a higher being.

It might not be fair; they could not fully comprehend what they were doing. Most of those in Thedas do not consider spirits as anything more than an extension of the living world reaching into Fade - emotions brought to life. But I know it to be an oversimplification; and the spirits are much more self-conscious and self-aware than we give them credit for.

But Thedas is unforgiving realm. And I can understand Fen’s rage. More importantly, I’m long past caring about lives of strangers - or in this case, about someone ruthlessly extinguishing them like a blown out candles. Life flickers away and dies from their eyes; and their wheezing breaths stop under the oppressive force of Fen’s magic; and yet I do not find even an ounce of sympathy in myself. What does it make of me?

Fen is far from calm, even after his brutal outburst. He continues glaring at them disdainfully, his fists clenching and unclenching uneasily. I walk towards him, easily disregard the mangled corpses; dismissing them from my mind as easily as one would a midsummer rain. A natural, inevitable phenomena, but not particularly bothersome.

He casts a desperate glance at me, and I reach out to clasp his arm in reassurance.

‘Let us be gone from here, my wolf.’ I say encouragingly, hoping to get him out of the dark place he is in right now. Fen nods jerkingly, his movement stiff and awareness shallow. He nearly falls over a small bump over an uneven bump on our path, and that’s when I realize he is taking it much harder than I expected. There had been many deaths during our journey; we’ve seen many spiritual - and not spiritual - beings fade away from existence.

Worriedly I bite on my lip, leading him to our mounts. Somehow, this spirit must have been special to him.

He mounts in the same mindless stupor, allowing me to take the reins of his horse without fuss. It is only because he is an excellent rider that he doesn’t fall off when we begin an unhurried trot, as I take us away from the carnage and back to the place where our journey had begun today. I don’t care that technically, it’s taking us further away from both of our destinations - Minrathous for me, and Skyhold for him. Fen needs a moment of undisturbed peace.

As we reach the serene area of weakened fade and clear stream, Cole doesn’t need to be told to disappear. I am so focused on Fen and my worry about him I do not realize spirit’s absence until we dismount. I reach inside to pet the bond in relieved gratitude, and he preens brightly in the distance, happy with my approval. But then I am forced to shift my attention back to my current problem.

I force my wolf to swallow a few reluctant bites of food, and set up the camp, preparing a couple of warning glyphs on the edges of the clearing. Throughout all this, Fen remains deathly silent and completely passive, looking ahead with glossy, unfocused eyes. I’m certain he sees nothing ahead of him.

Finished with my chores, I glance at him helplessly. Bringing Fen here was easy, but now what? We have no history of sharing our pain with each other - if anything, it’s the exact opposite. I do not even know whether I’m helping him by being around him, or whether I should make myself scarce like Cole. Maybe Fen would rather be alone; let out his pain without prying eyes.

Finally, I decide that I would rather be alone, and tentatively, offer him the same.

‘I’m going now, Fen. I won’t be far, come get me if you need anything.’ I squeeze his arm in attempted comfort. Before I can leave, however, his hand grabs at the back of my clothes, holding me in place.

‘Stay.’ His voice creaks and my heart softens in compassion. Turning around, I can see desperation oozing from his every pore. My wolf is cracking at the seams, falling apart in front of me - and if he needs my presence to help him, then by the gods, he will have it.

‘If that’s what you want.’ I whisper obligingly, allowing him to pull me back down.

He stays silent, and so do I, not wanting to intrude on his grief. His aura remains oppressively depressed, and raging around him like a crazed animal, lashing out in anger. I do not need sight to see it. It stretches around him until it latches onto me, and for a moment I feel like I’m drowning, swallowed into the dark place in which Fen is. It circles me, clings onto me, unwilling to relent and I know that even had I wanted to, I wouldn’t be able to leave now.

It constricts the air in my lungs, and fear tingles on my spine. It has been a long time since Fen had shown me this side of him. Every fiber in me screams to get away, not let myself be imprisoned again, not to allow this to trap me. But as always, fear incites my inner pride; I refuse to let it rule over me and I rise to the challenge. Instead of clawing away, I close the distance between us until I’m sitting face to face with him, and grab his hands. Opening up I let my own aura lose until it entangles with his; and as they mingle it is hard to say when one ends and another begins. I feel his pulse and heartbeat, and their rapid staccato begins slowing down.

I am not going anywhere, my wolf. Open your eyes, and see for yourself.

Fen slumps, and allows his forehead to drop down and touch mine. Our breaths mingle, and my own pulse picks up, as always reacting to his presence. I curse my hormones to the Void, since now is not the time to be drugged in his presence. I am supposed to be compassionate, instead of drunk on desire.

‘When I have realized the full consequences separating Fade from this reality would have on Elvhen it was much too late to do anything about it.’ Fen says suddenly, distracting me from my internal, self-berating monologue. ‘The ritual had left me so weakened I could not reverse it had it killed me. I should have felt horrified, having robbed the Elvhen of their immortality... but I was not.’ There’s a lingering… something in his tone, but I have no time to catch on the subtle nuances as he continues. ‘No, there was only one thing in my mind - you. How this would affect you, my Pride.’

His hands, which I have been holding, suddenly clench over mine, reflecting the despair in him. I bite back a pained moan, I do not want to alarm him. ‘I couldn’t know. Would you get lost on the way, without the magical beacon to guide you? Would the geass release you, allowing you to remain in your world? Mythal had bound you to Thedas, but with realities separated, would you become again no more than a wisp with a sliver of power? Or maybe…’ His voice shakes, and he finally opens his eyes to look at me. ‘Or maybe you would become afflicted with mortality, same as other Elvhen, and I would never see you again. You could have long perished, and I wouldn’t know any better, awaiting your arrival for all eternity.’ He draws a wheezing breath and my heart clenches, weeping for him. Oh, my wolf. So riddled with doubts; so beaten up by fate. I did not know.

‘The spirit of Wisdom heard my never ending questions, drawn like a moth to flame to my frenzied search for certainty. She calmed me, to a degree. She reminded me that I could only know anything for sure once you’ve returned, that this whole thing was pointless; but she also asked some very important questions.

‘Consider this, Fen’Harel. Is it really a coincidence that Pride was drawn to Thedas, that her mere appearance has caused such profound changes in everything and everyone around her? She reshaped you; she reshaped our society; she changed the pantheon and Thedas beyond recognition without seemingly lifting a finger… Is her role finished with Arlathan’s fall? Do you truly believe that Pride’s fate is so simple as to wither away in such manner?’

I had to admit I did not know.’ Fire blazes in his eyes, as he is lost in his recollections. ‘I did not know, but that uncertainty gave me hope. For the first time in my existence, not having an answer made me glad… Wisdom laughed at me, and kept my company during my dreams for many centuries, as I wavered between hope and hopelessness, awaiting some definite sign what fate had befallen you.’

‘She was a dear friend who helped me in my darkest hours. Lost for the sake of **foolish** , mindlessly egotistical humans who did not know any better.’

The pressure on my hands releases, and I allow myself a soft sigh of relief and discreetly stretch them to assuage the pain.

Something builds up in me, as I try to comprehend the degree of his devotion to me. In a way, disturbingly, he is somewhat like June - only luckily for him, he has never tried to bind me with his affections, force them upon me. I am convinced it is one of the main reasons why I grew to love him; for all his love, he has never once attempted to cage me. Smother me. Dictate my moves. Wolf understands my need for freedom; respects it.

What can I really say after all that? After all the heartfelt confessions, dripping with self-disdain and echoing ages of pain and uncertainty? His eyes bear into me mounting pressure over my shoulders, but all of the words I have on the tip of my tongue seem paltry… empty. Nothing feels genuine enough, sincere enough to express fully my mess of feelings. My condolences? I feel for you? I’m sorry? None of this expresses the tenderness I feel; or empathize with his pain. These are all conciliatory phrases, spoken between strangers in a farce of kindness.

Maybe, since I do not have words of compassion in me, it’s high time to properly express what I feel for him. Some part of me quivers at the word ‘love’; for all we but admitted it, we’ve never really put a correct label on the feeling raging between us. It’s as if some era is ending, a new dawn upon us. Am I really ready to make the leap into the future? Our future?

Immediately after asking this question I feel ashamed of myself. Really, **now** I am getting cold feet? After my wolf had poured out half of his heart for me, I am getting jittery? My pride rears it’s head, shaking it’s silver mane, and determination surges within me. I push all of my doubts and misgivings aside, and… leap.

‘I think, for all her tragedy, Wisdom was glad. You heard her, Fen. She was glad that it was you who sent her away; because she cared for you. My dearest wolf, you make it impossible not to care, not to love you. Wisdom was was happy to assist you back  in the day, because she loved you.’ Fen listens to me speak intently, hanging onto every word. In spite of my best intentions they become quieter and quieter, until they are merely whisper when I finally breath out. ‘As do I.’

But he still hears me, and his eyes widen a fraction in reaction to this. And before I know it, he pulls me into him, crushing my lips with a heated kiss. It’s unlike those we’ve shared before - tender and sweet and **careful**. No, this one is full of his troubled emotions, despair and grief and sadness as he tries to lose himself in me. I entwine my hands on his neck while Fen forces me to awkwardly climb into his lap. His kisses get more fervent and grief gives way to raging desire, a constant undercurrent in our relationship.

Even now, even in this situation, Fen pulls away for a moment. I draw heavy breaths, dizzy from our passion, when he reaches to the clasp of my tunic with clear question in his eyes; asking for permission. My reservations melt away under a heavy heat of my own need for him, and warm tenderness after he remembered to ask. Even when my rejection would have crushed him, he asked.

I am at a loss of words, so instead I let my lips graze his cheek in silent encouragement. His breath hitches, and no longer hesitating he pulls me on the grass alongside him.

When I thought - dreamed - of our lovemaking, I didn’t think it would be like that. Fen’s a very deliberate and careful person; so I always imagined tenderness and slowness and even slight uncertainty. Awe. I did not think it would be in the middle of forest, rushed and desperate, as he buries himself in me with reckless abandon of a drowning man reaching for the last straw to help keep him afloat. There’s desire, and yes, in spite of it all he is still tender - I imagine he can’t be anything but, not when it comes to me. But more than anything he wants to forget, forget of the harsh world around us and lose himself in me.

But then my coherence flees, chased away by the building pressure between us. I allow myself to forget as well, focusing on him and on us, our union of bodies, heat and rugged breaths and hasty movements. Moaning softly, I kiss him, swallowing his scream as he collapses over me, his chest rapidly rising up and down.

He refuses to budge, our bodies still joined, Fen entwined with me in every possible way. I frown faintly, a bit uncomfortable and slightly exasperated, but the silent plea in his eyes makes me abandon the issue. Clearly, Fen still needs it. I sluggishly reach for a blanket to cover us, and breathing in his masculine scent, fall asleep encircled by his hands.

When I wake up, Fen’s long gone. Not particularly worried, I go to the stream and wash, grimacing slightly at the ice cold water over my ever-present smile. I am still somewhat dazed; afterglow of our joining makes me giddy. I curse myself for behaving like a lustful youngster, in my age I should be much more dignified about the issue. But there’s not much sincerity in my self-chastisements. It’s Fen we are talking about after all, the man who haunted my dreams for a better part of these past two ages. I ought to give myself some leeway, some allowance to be simply **happy** that we got together.

I do not mind that circumstances pushed us to make this step, or that he was using me to forget instead of properly celebrating **us**. Truth to be told, I doubt there would ever come a day when either one of us could be completely free of worry. We have too much responsibility looming over us to simply put it all behind us. And in the end, the fact that he is so damn caring and trustworthy is what makes Fen, Fen. I wouldn’t have him any other way.

By the time I return he is back, with hunched shoulders and a pinched look on his face. At first, I assume it has to do with his grief over Wisdom, and leave him in peace. I suppose he might feel guilty about what has transpired between us; that he allowed himself such indulgence in the wake of his friend’s death. He is wrong, of course - it is only natural to celebrate life in the face of death. And I doubt Wisdom would begrudge him a moment of utter release.

 _‘We need to talk.’_ Fen says suddenly, and the cool distance in his voice makes me glance at him sharply.

Or maybe it has nothing to do with Wisdom at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry this chapter took so long, but it was really important one to write. I had to get it exactly right; especially since I’m not much into reading or writing smut. I like when things get steamy, but I draw a line at very explicit descriptions. I needed for this to sound romantic and sad and desperate and as a release - and I’m not quite certain I’ve succeeded.
> 
> Now, for all those who’ve been waiting for them to jump into bed - really, shame on you. ^^ Seriously though, I wanted this to be much more than just about sex; and Fen’s and Pride’s relationship is much more than physical attraction. They’ve been very careful about pushing boundaries with each other since they do not want to fuck it up; and I hope I’ve managed to get that across.


	58. Manipulated Pride

I do not at all like the way he sounds, but clearly there’s no avoiding the issue - whatever in the Void it is. Nodding briskly, I subconsciously lean against a tree, in case I needed to steady myself. Ready to face the storm, I reply, motioning with my hand to express my indifference.

_ ‘Well then. Talk. We have time.’ _

Fen raises his eyebrow at my nonchalant facade, and for a moment I wonder whether he can see through it. Maybe he can hear the sound of my rapidly beating heartbeat, feel the bile choking my throat. It doesn’t matter regardless; for I refuse to show him my weakness, even if he should know that I’m far from unaffected by the situation. No, let’s not pull away from the truth - he must know.

_ ‘The reason for my involvement with Inquisition is related to a task I must accomplish.’  _ He says straightforwardly, and I tense, knowing he is far from finished.  _ ‘And this task is thus: the Fade must be restored to Thedas. This unnatural state I’ve placed this world in cannot go on.’ _

I swallow a gasp at this revelation, but as my mind races to catch onto all the consequences, my eyes involuntarily widen. He nods sedately to confirm my suspicion.

_ ‘Yes, you are correct: the Evanuris will be freed from their prison.’ _

But that’s barely touching the surface of my conjecture.

_ ‘You bastard.’ _ I am proud, for the words sound coolly detached; unlike the hot mess swirling in my head. 

He looks at me straight in the eyes, tilting his head with serenity on his features. The lack of denial reaffirms my convictions that I have finally gotten something right; but then he continues on as if my revelation was meaningless.

_ ‘I have been arranging things for quite some time already, but I was missing a few pieces. Corypheus provided me with an opportunity, which I couldn’t pass. I have given him the orb you’ve gifted me in the hope…’ _

_ ‘Stop. I do not want to hear anymore.’  _ I lift my hand to underline my words, glad that my voice is not shaking.  _ ‘You damn manipulative bastard.’ _

Without flinching, Fen accepts my harsh judgement. Clearly he has expected such reaction from me - and my soul wails at that revelation. He knew, and yet proceeded anyway. He consciously disregarded my preference in order to pursue his own; to bind me to him irrevocably while aware that I would refrain from doing so had I full knowledge of the circumstances. It pains me even more, and I turn my head away to conceal the faint glimmer of tears in my eyes.

After all the praise I had for him and his careful handling of my feelings, he had gone and done the exact opposite.

This was the reason why I was hesitant to declare myself. Some part of me was aware he was keeping something from me - something which would completely change the game. But against my better judgement - swayed by his emotional dishevel after Wisdom’s death - I have taken the plunge.

And the fall was devastating.

I should have remembered - his name hasn’t been without reason. Fen’Harel, the trickster. I used to love this about him; but not when he turned his vast experience and abilities against me. Never then.

I’m in disbelief that he could be so devious to use his own grief in such manner - to extract from me the declaration I couldn’t take back. Words which placed me at his mercy; words which could be turned against me. Which would control me.

I have underestimated him - or overestimated the value he placed on my freedom of choice. When he knew, he knew that I would have wished to wait for June before making this decision. He took it from me, used my caring nature - my love - against me.

It’s not something I can forget... or forgive easily.

Even if it’s him. Even if it’s the other half of my soul.

_ ‘You aren’t going to ask anything?’  _ Fen muses out loud, and I feel a wave of irritation, piercing through the pain.

Would knowing his reasons make any difference? Not at all. The basic facts still stand - he had intended to reshape this world again, from before our meeting. He concealed it from me, and extracted a promise - fully aware I would not have given it had I known.

_ ‘I don’t care to, leave me be. I need time. Solas.’  _ I have to acknowledge that just as I have changed, so did he. And I have to ask myself whether I can still trust him, when he is fully capable of turning against me, if need be. And if I can’t… Where does it leave us?

I will not be anyone’s puppet.

_ ‘You will return.’  _

I wrap my arms around my chest to stop their shaking; he doesn’t even make it conditional. It’s a statement, and it tells me he is not going to let me go. I might be allowed to think things through, but with these simple words he announces that I am no longer my own person. I have given him my soul yesterday; and he is damn sure going to collect.

I shudder. Never before had he felt so alien. He used to ask - now he demands, regal and magnificently majestic. A god.

So I rebel against him - against this - in the only way I can. By giving my obeisance to the higher being, who decided my fate for me.

_ ‘As you command, master.’  _ And I bow before him, hand hovering over my heart, knees and neck bent in just the right angle. The very things I have taught my Wings, now I use to put distance between us.

Through my lowered lashes I glimpse a flash of hurt in his eyes, but they turn inscrutable before I can read more from them. He dismissed me with a wave of hand, and I scramble away, barely maintaining what scraps are left of my dignity. With clouded by tears sight I mount my horse and immediately kick it into gallop, wanting to put physical distance between us as fast as possible. 

It is only once I reach the safety of Wings’ hideout in Minrathous that I allow myself to fall apart. And I cry, hot tears of betrayal and fear carving their way down my cheeks. I really did not expect this… not from him. And because it is Fen, it hurts all the more - because just after I entrusted him with my soul, he proved me I should not have. Chewed it and spat back out the mangled pieces.

And the worst part is - I still love him. He lied - admittedly, by omission, but it does not lessen this particular lie’s magnitude. I asked repeatedly about the explanation, both in actions and in words.  He hurt me and entangled into relationship I would wish to wait with, now that I know everything. 

Somewhere at the back of my head rests the terrifying certainty that in spite of all that, had he forbidden me from going, I would have listened. Not for fear, but because he was the one asking.

I feel… derailed. Out of control.  **Manipulated.** It is like a violation, only one over my will. Over my independence. And I am nauseated how easily Fen had achieved it. And how ready I was to fall, at the slightest behest. An encouragement, sign of weakness on his part, and I let go of all the instincts which kept me alive of centuries.

How pathetic can I get?

And how could he do this to me?

The disdain for him and self-disdain for my actions mingle and swirl around, until I am uncertain when one ends and another begins. A bile rises in my throat, and this time I do not stop myself from vomiting. I am disgusting; so weak. Void damn me, I am so weak.

On the other end of the spectrum of my various emotions lies fear. I had not expected it. After many centuries and achieving mastery over skills I could only dream of once - I am still fearful of June. I doubt he could entrap me  **now** , as opposed to in the past, but my sketchy memories recall only the marble walls of the cage he kept me in, and the limits I’ve been forced to adhere to under his rule.

I fear what he can do to me, the hold he still has over me disturbingly strong…  But I also fear what he has become. How did this entrapment change him? June was well on the way to insanity when I last saw him… And these memories remain with me, terrifyingly vivid in their accuracy. How much worse had he become, forcefully separated from Thedas… but also from anything to keep control over his deteriorating self?

It’s all my fault. I should not have been selfish…

Thinking about June sends me back to the endless well of self-recriminations. I have managed to push away memories of Arlathan; but they still burn within me, along with the city. For hours I’m hounded with visions, distorted by time and my faulty perception.

Cole is - or at least tries to be - there for me; a bright light at the end of our shared bond; constantly relating me his unconditional love and devotion. But in this case, my pride once again proves to be both an advantage and detriment. Because once again, I am torn, a part of me wishing to embrace his brightness and a part of me pulling back.

But the most prevalent thing is that I do not want to drag him down along with me. So my exhausted self uses what I have left of mana to ensure he is safe both from my memories, and the darkness.

Flames, flames everywhere. Arlathan burns. Tevinter burns. Andraste burns. Par Vollen burns.

Pride, all of this is the price for my pride. For inability to submit. For my damn independence and disobedience. For my freedom - and what a laugh it is, what an illusion. In the end, I am no more than a chess piece, pulled along by the mighty into their deadly board game.

Pride is what kept me together all this time. Will it bury me now?

I can’t accept this. I can’t accept Fen’s trick to keep me near; and at the same time I have given him myself. My pride demands of me both to abandon him and to be loyal to him; to get away and get near. And I’m torn, torn apart and it hurts so damn much.

Guilt towards Fen swells within me; another layer of self-derision. What a mockery of myself I have become. How can I love my wolf fully when I can’t accept the faults in his character? It is in his nature; manipulating others to get what he perceives as his due. It is not the first time he has used his talents against me; and in the past, I have accepted it. If I do not learn to do that again, I will grow to despise him.

But how can I accept his weaknesses, learn to trust him, when I deny mine? Pride is both my virtue and my vice, but I have closed my eyes against the dark side of me for years. Refusing to acknowledge it.

How can I love my wolf, when I hate myself? Hate breeds only hate.

There are no more tears left; my throat is parched and I nearly choke as I greedily swallow water which some thoughtful soul brought to my bedside. I am so out of it I did not notice that person entering or leaving, but I’m grateful nonetheless. For a moment my reason returns, and I wonder how my Wings are. Is Nervlis managing to keep them together?

In the last moment of lucidity I scribble a note which with my personal seal gives him complete authority over all of the affairs. I ring for a servant to deliver it, but once the doors behind him close my peace shatters.

Glass, broken glass and flames. I drown, swallowed by darkness and there’s the abyss looking straight in my face and when I look back, I can see there is peace there to be found. For a mere second I am tempted to let go. Sanity is much overrated, and I have so many scars both on body and soul. It would be easier to let go…

But looking into the darkness of my soul reminds me of who I am. I was not merely pulled along - I made most of these choices consciously. In good or bad faith, the choices were mine. And others suffered for them. Escaping now would be a cowards way out; it would be disgraceful. I am stronger than that.

Doubt as to the truth of that statement lingers on the edge of my thoughts, but maybe if I remind myself of it enough it will become true. I have managed to fool myself many times before; tell myself that I am strong when in reality it is anything but the truth.

It is time to force yourself upright once again, Pride. Live up to your own words. You will not let anyone or anything break you. You are who you are; and you bend before no one.

The waves of insanity still continue pounding against the stand of my mind, but their pull weakens. The worst of the maelstrom has passed; and my awareness returns. Somewhere far away, Cole breathes in relief, sending his unconditional support and once again offering his assistance in my getting over it all.

For I refuse to rely on a crutch when I can stand up with my own two legs. Just because there’s a glowering hole in heart it doesn’t excuse my falling into pieces. I will do what I’ve always done; stitch the edges of the wound with my own hands, while the blood spurts from in between my fingers. Like a broken mirror, glued together but never quite the same - cracked and forever scarred, I will go on. And if the reflection of my soul staring back at me is skewed and deformed - I’ll just have to get used to the change, learn to look and see into the darkness of my soul without flinching and without averting my gaze.

I can no longer avoid it; now that the dark memories of Arlathan resurface with the awareness of June’s imminent return. But if I can’t escape, then there’s only one solution - I have to brave through them.

Many sleepless nights pass as the memories of war and destruction play out before me. I used to close myself off from them, using cool distance to defend my heart; but now I ride this through. Dark circles underneath my eyes and paleness of my skin tell the whole story; but I refuse to let it defeat me. I am who I am; and I will not be ashamed of it. I would rather perish than be apologetic for my existence.

It is nearly a month afterwards that I leave my quarters. I haven’t really noticed the passage of time, focused on rebuilding my defences. I can’t allow such things to keep happening, they leave me terribly exposed. 

Nervlis was forced to deal with all the many messes on his own, but through his talent and dedication he pulled through. I do my best to express my gratitude, although the words become meaningless when it comes to priceless gifts - but somehow he must understand, because he brightens under my gaze.

I leave Minrathous, proceeding to what remains until now of Arlathan’s forest. While putting myself together, some part of me was also considering the future. What needs to be done - and what I am to do with myself.

Regardless of my future relationship with Fen’Harel, it goes without saying that I will assist him. He never does anything without reason; and if he says that the Fade has to be restored, then it has to. He is always careful with his wording. Precise. Clearly, had it been his choice, he would have left the situation alone…

But that is not important right now. Maybe once my anger simmers down, I will be able to inquire about an explanation. For now, I focus on the immediate necessities.

Fen will need the orb. He has let go of it for some reason, but he will need it back to help him. It is a powerful tool, without doubt, and very likely a key to the spell separating the realities. But in the current situation, once Corypheus is defeated, the Inquisition will get a hold of it. And stealing it will equal putting everyone’s guard up; and I doubt Fen is prepared for such scrutiny and disadvantage for all his not insignificant means. I have to find another solution…

I wander Arlathan forest for weeks, blindly searching for June’s workshop. Most of his failed experiments were sealed there; and even after ages I have no doubts his spells have held. He was - is - a genius, after all. Certifiably insane, but a genius without doubt. 

The problem is that terrain has largely changed; the wildlife has overgrown familiar paths - and most importantly, I haven’t dared to come here in a long time. Two centuries, nearly. I just don’t remember where the place could be, and I simply scour the forest randomly, stretching my aura and hoping to literally bump into familiar glyphs.

Finally, I happen to literally stumble on them, hidden beneath large roots of a giant tree spreading over and around June’s hut. Since I am keyed into his magic, I pass the threshold without worrying about dismantling anything - and immediately begin coughing, when a curtain of dust clogs my senses, lifting with the gust of wind brought through the open door.

A veilfire activates immediately, casting eerie glow over the room. I have a an ambiguous mix of feelings, nostalgia mixed with dread as I glance around recalling the countless days I have spent here observing June. But I snap out if it soon enough, and delve into June’s storage in the basement below.

June was a messy inventor, cluttering everything around him absentmindedly during his working process - but a storage of his failed and successful experiments was kept impeccable. Records and clear descriptions on the shelves as well as final result of the experiment are neatly carved onto a metal plaques, easily withstanding the tear of ages. I walk the rows upon rows of shelves, astounded how many there had been. Even when I hated June, his diligence and dedication were traits I had to admire.

Finally I find my goal. Opening up the box I peek inside, and a faint murmur of triumph escapes me. Yes, this is it.

I cast one last glance at the many containers pertaining to this particular task June has undertaken - and for my sake, too. I can still feel faint touch of his magic within, and shudder at the way it glides over my aura. It disgusts me, and I stop dallying. Picking up what I came for, I leave the premises without backward glance.

I would be happy if I never saw June again. Alas, Fen has just informed me that he intends on freeing the lot of them - which means confronting that part of my past rather than avoiding it.

I’ll get there when it happens.

I return to Minrathous in haste, and at last pick up my duties from tired hands of Nervlis. The relief at my return in his eyes is palpable, and he immediately retires to his quarters to catch up on the missing hours of sleep.

Arissar has reports for me regarding Qunari activity, and we spend many hours stuck in my office discussing their sudden inactivity. They’ve gone deep underground, their operations largely ceased, and I can’t help instinctive worry that something’s afoot. My Qunari spymaster agrees with my assertions. Unfortunately we have no way of knowing what is actually happening, our agent too low-key to bring forth such information. We settle on creating countless contingency plans, dependent on our random guesses ranging from bad downright to Void terrible.

Arissar departs soon afterwards, returning to Bethany waiting for him in Rivain. I dismiss it from the forefront of my mind, trusting his abilities to implement all the necessary changes in our rosters and procure all the supplies we need for these contingencies. 

Minrathous itself is calm. Tessarian tells me that the Senators have decided to take a break from their never ending game after yet again shooting down our proposed reforms. Irony laces his words heavily, and I can feel for him and for the frustration raging behind his calm demeanor. It is perfectly understandable - he has been fighting for these reforms for the better part of his life, and yet achieved next to nothing. Even with all our support, the only actual changes were minor, and regarding some technicalities of magic usage. The slave rights, restoration of Tribunes, forbidding of using any blood magic of outside sources - even official acknowledgement of blood magic as a term in the law - all has been shut down. The Chantry had crucial role in preventing any of it from happening, and I have a sudden urge to remove the current Black Divine by any means necessary. Surely his successor would be more reasonable, with naked threat looming over his head.

Squashing down my homicidal desires, I shake my head and return my focus to the letters from Skyhold in front of me. Valeria’s is full of meaningless nothings, and aside from general impression that she is happy to be there, I derive nothing useful from it. On the other hand, Dagna’s report confirms things that have been reaching us from Val Royeaux; very alarming things. The Chantry has decided that the next White Divine, with jurisdiction over whole Thedas aside from Tevinter, will come from Inquisition. The possible candidacies, whispered among the clerics, make the frontrunners of this race Leliana and Cassandra. But other names are mentioned as well, among them the most worrisome one of Vivienne.

I sigh, and force myself to take a deep breath.

It shouldn’t surprise me. The previous Divine chosen without Inquisition’s approval has lost her seat in a matter of months. With Chantry’s position so severely weakened they have no choice but rely on Inquisition’s support to improve their standing among the believers. And the organization’s overall popularity after countless months of battling demons for the sake of the poor, afflicted people can’t be forgotten. No, Chantry needs the next Divine to be from among Inquisitor’s companions, even if they have to bend their own rules to make it happen.

What would be the best outcome for us? I need to consider it carefully. Vivienne would be a strong Divine, and the Chantry would either be made, or broken by her appointment. It’s a coin toss from my point of view; and while one of these options would be very desireable, the other scares me. Chantry united with mages, acting in conjunction with the very powers that nearly brought it down… No. That can’t happen.

I turn my analysis to Leliana. She would be a proponent of change, but less extreme in her ways than Lady de Fer. Still, with her deep knowledge of Chantry’s underbelly, chances of her succeeding would be much greater than Vivienne’s. And Leliana can be even more ruthless in her actions than the mage; certainly she is more decisive. Her appointment, I judge, would be the best option for the Chantry. It would emerge stronger, reshaped in full accordance with Justinia’s wishes.

Lastly, there’s Cassandra; and her I judge to be the least dangerous of the three options for any plans I may forward. Cassandra would act in accordance to Chantry’s traditions; she is a firm believer but not a very flexible person. No, Cassandra would restore things to how they were before the Mage-Templar war. Maybe some laws would get amended, become more lenient towards wielders of mana; but on the whole, Chantry would continue on the path it used to follow.

A downward spiral of steady loss of support, diminishment of faith and lessening influence. Exactly how I would want the Chantry to end up - weak and powerless.

I have to ensure Cassandra gets the position.

With this decision made, I spend the afternoon writing countless letters. To our agents in Val Royeaux, to spread the word of Cassandra’s mighty deeds while subtly besmirching Leliana’s and Vivienne’s reputations. To our spies in Inquisition, to influence Ellana and speak positively of Cassandra as a divine at every juncture. The girl is still naive enough to believe that she needs to do good by people; and such show of support will push her on the right track.

Lastly, after a whole lot of wavering, I write a letter to Fen. A single sentence to convey that I am still angry at him - but that I am considering our future; and that I have the well-being of his plans in mind.

_ Make sure Cassandra gets the throne. _

I do not know how aware he is of the Chantry’s politics. I doubt he has been awake long enough to delve into them deeply; but even if this advice proves unnecessary, even if he knows that already, at least my conscience is clear.

Lastly, there’s a short missive from Leliana regarding the interest of a so-called Temple of Mythal that the Venatori are seeking. She inquires politely about my knowledge regarding it - where is it; what it might contain that interests Corypheus; anything really that I can tell about it.

There’s plenty I could. While my attitude towards Mythal precluded any voluntary visits in one of the largest centers of her worship, the damn place was quite unforgettable. Even after seeing it a handful of times, the intricate complex was etched deeply into my memories.

But I refrain on extolling its legendary beauty, picturing the might of Evanuris to Leliana; sending instead a vague missive that I will look into this and get back to her.

Soon I am out of the Minrathous’ creamy surroundings, sandstone buildings diminishing steadily behind my back as I push my mount forward. Nervlis was slightly disgruntled that I am departing so soon after another absence; but overall he accepted it with long-suffering resignation. As I hesitated, already mounted - assaulted by guilt - he waved me off.

‘Go and do whatever needs to be done, Pride. I’ll hold the fort until your return.’

The Arbor Wilds greet me with fully benefitting their name abundance of wildness and wildlife. Warm climate of this temperate forest invites a variety of colourful plants and creatures unseen elsewhere in Thedas. The ages-old glyphs built into the very structure of terrain create misleading illusions, hiding wonders of the temple from unwanted visitors. But there are also signs of the Venatori who have managed to pass this first line of defence already; a telltale broken branches and trails of heavily armed boots in the soft ground. The peace has been irrevocably disturbed.

Pursing my lips I decide that I cannot hide this location from Leliana for much longer, lest Corypheus claims it first. But before I make my way to Skyhold, I venture into the forest to see the Temple for myself. I am curious what is it that the magister seeks in these walls; and I’ll be damned if I let the Inquisition get a hold on it before evaluating its usefulness for myself. Maybe, just maybe this whole debacle proves unnecessary.

I follow the trail of power; expertly differentiating traps from lay lines and where a less aware person would have faltered, I pass with certainty. I have spent many years in strongholds created by June and Mythal; and this experience assists me now.

The structure remains untouched by time, radiant under the light of midday sun. Even from the distance, at the large Ivory gates, I can feel power thrumming through these very walls. Could this be what Corypheus seeks? It feels alive; and I gladly breathe in the saturated with magic air, before hurrying inside.

Within the Temple, a ritual has to completed before passing into the inner sanctum. I scowl slightly, detesting the rites of a petitioner with vehemence - I have petitioned for Mythal’s mercy often enough, only to receive none. It takes a while to swallow my disdain and proceed with the necessary steps. Bending my neck, I bite on my lip reminding myself to be patient. It is only for now, Fean’Na; be practical. You do not have enough strength to force your way in, so just follow. The damned. Instructions.  

It is a relief when the doors finally open. I nearly stumble in shock, seeing a vaguely familiar figure on the other side.

_ ‘Ah, finally you made your way here. We have been awaiting your arrival, Pride.’ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, some of you have figured out what Fen was about.
> 
> SPOILER WARNING!  
> I wonder how many of you think that Pride is overreacting - after all, while she did not speak out about her love, her actions were very telling. I will expand on it in the next chapter, but expaining it briefly - now they have an established relationship; and with June's return she would have preferred to cut it off with June before formally getting together with Fen. Before it wasn't a problem, because she did not think she would ever meet June again; but obviously the circumstances changed.  
> Along with this, her fears of June and what his return means resurfaced along with unpleasant memories, and all this together was a bit too much for her to handle.  
> Don't worry, as you can see, even though Fean'Na doesn't like Fen very much now, breaking up with him hasn't crossed her mind even once. She still loves him - only she is very angry and hurt right now. It will pass.  
> Only a couple more chapters remain; and then we are off to sequel.


	59. Independent Pride

Mythal’s markings frame the elven face of the man in front of me. Immediately on my guard, I cast a covert look around; my experiences with Mythal’s servants haven’t been what one could call positive, and I suspect the perspective was mutual.

 _‘I’m not surprised you have trouble recalling me. It has been quite a while.’_ The man states calmly, and suddenly I recall an old scene from my memories. He was the one to drag me in front of Mythal’s throne, when I have returned for the second time to Thedas. Before the geas was cast upon me.

 _‘All these years and you remain Mythal’s faithful dog, Abelas.’_ I snarl derisively. Abelas shows no reaction to my offensive words, remaining almost… apathetic. A far cry from the arrogant Sentinel who kept watch over me before Mythal had cast her judgement over my Fate.

_‘Come. Our mistress have left us to guard something for your sake; and now our duty may finally be complete.’_

I follow him, curious almost in spite of myself. A gift from Mythal? It is certainly double-edged; but I will not deny it prematurely. I need to see for myself; what had she seen fit to bestow upon me.

And what exactly is the catch.

He leads me within, through Inner Sanctum to the areas accessible only to the priests and priestesses. I stand before a clear surface water, gathered in a sculptured basin, and gaze upon it without understanding. I can perceive large amounts of magical energy radiating from within this calm illusion, but its purpose eludes me.

_‘Behold the Well of Sorrows. Should you wish, the power it holds could be yours.’_

Abelas stops a couple of stairs below, indicating with a wave of hand the water. I look at him, and seeing his serene countenance turn back to face this so-called Well.

 _‘Mythal has never been keen on allowing me my decisions. What changed?’_ I ask, stalling. I do not fully understand what it is that I see before me - I was relatively certain that Mythal was reduced to a mere wisp, forced to cling to mortal form in order to survive. Or at least Fen said so; and she has kept her distance from me throughout the years. And yet, this is distinctly, unmistakably hers - I could never forget the wretched nausea her brand of magic brought upon me. And this feels disgustingly similar. How is that possible?

 _‘My lady had learned her lesson - when it comes to Pride, imposing one’s will leads nowhere. Pride will find a way to circumvent any and all that stand in her way.’_ Abelas smiles, but it is not a pleasant smile - a baring of teeth just short of threatening. My hackles rise, and I still in readiness, wondering whether a confrontation is abound. But his anger deflates, the elf shakes his head resignedly.

 _‘When was…_ **_this_ ** _prepared?’_ I wonder out loud, taking a few steps closer to the the deceptively calm surface of the water. It reflects me perfectly - like an impeccable mirror, and I am discomforted by the unnatural nature of it.

_‘Before the Twilight had begun.’_

Long before Mythal’s supposed demise. It begs a question then - why hasn’t she used it to restore herself? If I am even moderately close to the truth with my assumptions regarding how much power this thing holds, it would have been sufficient to at least partially restore her formidable might. So why didn’t she?

I am tempted to reach out and confirm my suspicions, but I refrain. Who knows what sort of binds would this thing impose on me - in addition to those already in place. With my blindness I can’t see the lines of magic; can’t read the hidden meanings aside from the obvious one - this damn thing is beyond anything I’ve seen ever since the fall of Arlathan. And it was safeguarded - for me.

 _‘What did she hope to achieve by granting me such a gift?’_ Abelas must know; he used to be Mythal’s closest servant and advisor. Some speculated he was even her lover; but I knew differently. Mythal and Elgar’Nan were devoted to one another, there was no place for a third person in their relationship. Still, in matters of faith and ruling, Abelas could have known more than Mythal’s husband. Elgar’Nan had plenty things of his own to take care of, after all.

 _‘My mistress prayed that by giving you power to make your own choice, you would be content to remain in Thedas.’_ Abelas replies evenly, even though he must tire of my constant questioning of Mythal’s good faith. The problem is, I have never believed she had good intentions when it came to me, ever. She has certainly never acted as much.

Power to make my own choice…?

 _‘She knew of me and Fen’Harel.’_ I make it a statement, but it rings with uncertainty. The male at my back snorts.

_‘Who didn’t?’_

_‘And she wanted to allow me my choice in spite of knowing it would fall unfavourably to June?’_ I ask with disbelief. That can’t be.

_‘My lady believed that while June would be devastated by such choice, your absence altogether was much worse. He was inconsolable. Better you remain in his sight, even  out of reach, than not at all.’_

To say I am astounded by the revelation would be putting it lightly. I look back at the water again, sorely tempted to accept. Not only would it resolve the problem with Corypheus, but also my upcoming meeting with June would weigh less on my mind…

But my reflection stares back at me, and I straighten up, recalling who I am. Pride does not accept favours - especially those with strings attached. Owing Mythal a favour of this magnitude… I despise the very thought.

 _‘I’ll need you to guard this treasure for a while longer. Soon, this Temple will be beset by trespassers - mortal ones marred by blight and red lyrium, and the others bearing banners of Maker. The Inquisitor is one of the Dalish, and I suspect she will know to follow the ritual. Once she does, let her bequeath it to whomever she deems worthy. For I have no need of it.’_ Abelas nods placidly, unsurprised by my words. Likely he remembers the animosity I bear towards Mythal.

There’s a hint of regret in me that such choice had to be made; but I’ll not risk binding myself to Mythal by any means. Besides, it’s not just about me; this spring of wonders have become contested goods, providing me with marvelous opportunity. One that I would be loath to pass.

My spies within Orlais have informed me of the arrangements between the Triumvirate and the Inquisition of mutual support on this occasion. It allows to set up a wonderful trap for Venatori forces; but also this kind of direct confrontation will reduce the military strength of both factions **theoretically** on my side. I need to remember that Thedas won’t just stop going after Corypheus’s defeat; and any and all circumstances reducing Inquisition’s considerable might are highly favourable. And if along the lines I manage to give a free kick in the gut to Orlesian forces, well, far it be from me to complain.

I suppose it could be worrisome that a random person will receive Mythal’s powers meant for me - but I am not. Worried that is. This kind of power is not meant for mortal ones, far removed from the Fade. I pity the one who will bear this burden; for the Well’s magic will soon drive them mad.

I ought to feel remorse for subjecting someone to this terrible fate; but I am not. It is a meagre price to pay - stranger’s life - for achieving my goal. Better that than one of my own, certainly.

There’s nothing keeping me in the confines of Mythal’s Temple, and I readily abandon its walls to their unfortunate fate. I make my way to Skyhold with all due haste, and tell Leliana how she can find the Temple. From her badly concealed frown I can see she is suspicious; likely aware that there are things I’m keeping to myself. With gleeful satisfaction I let her retain them without any additional answers - because if there’s one thing that has changed for the better with the acknowledgment of my status as Wings’ leader it’s that I can tell her to lay off and not suffer for it.

Morrigan assaults me on the courtyard, with words of reproof and badgering me with many questions regarding the Temple. How did she find out I’ve been there is beyond me; I do not see Leliana sharing this intelligence freely, and especially not with the witch she despises. But she did, and quickly becomes a trial for my frayed patience. I do not want to be here; I have one last errand and I hope to be gone from Skyhold for good. Preferably without encountering the source of my recent woes.

‘What I am doing and where is none of your business, **my friend.** ’ I carefully lace my words with sarcasm, expressing my disdain for her nosiness. The two of us are nowhere near cordial relation after all.

She scrunches her pretty nose in annoyance, and attempts to get a strike back at me.

‘One would expect a mage to be keen on sharing the knowledge with their fellow counterparts… Oh, what am I saying. You are hardly deserving of the title.’

Insulting my studiousness and dedication in a single sentence, as well as other implications… Quite nicely done. But the problem is, I could care less about her judgement. So I roll my eyes and intend to ignore her when another voice joins the discussion.

‘I do not think you possess the expertise to make such calls, Morrigan.’ The air gets noticeably cooler with Fen’s cutting remark. I curse myself for straying off my path for long enough that he noticed my presence. I had hoped to be gone already...

And I feel a wave of annoyance at his insert. I do not need him championing me against a barbaric twit, thank you very much! Especially since I have asked him to give me time. Appearing out of nowhere and injecting himself into my conversations with other people is anything but that.

‘As it happens, my magic is severely inhibited by an unfortunate condition I have acquired in my youth.’ I say to Morrigan completely ignoring Fen - as if he had said nothing at all. I wouldn’t have told as much had he kept quiet; but now I need to prove my independence of him. Whether it is for his awareness or for my satisfaction, I cannot say.

‘And what would that be? Impaired mental faculties?’ Vivienne walks down from the stairs with her arms crossed and ridicule in her voice. I keep a grimace just short off my face at yet another person I wished to avoid. Ever since our altercation in Adamant, the mage has been keeping her distance and nursing her bruised ego. Alas, the blessed time has run its course and she clearly needed to get back at me in some way.

‘I’ve completely lost my magic sight.’ I reply brusquely. ‘Clearly however, regardless of any impairment I have suffered, my skill was more than enough to manage you without much trouble, Madame.’

‘Fean’Na has barely survived the ordeal.’ Fen adds to my statement with an edge of tension, casting me a glance I can’t read. Not that I try very hard, vexed with him as I am.

It dissipates the conflict between me and Vivienne before it could well begin; I must own that I regret the lost opportunity to kick her ass. Again. Be it metaphorically or literally. The Head Enchanter of Montsimmard clearly has a question at the tip of her tongue, but Morrigan beats her to the punch exclaiming with apparent dread.

‘How could such a thing happen?’

Again I would have ignored it, but I need to make sure Fen understands my message loud and clear.

‘Easily if one were to put chunks of glass into their eyes as I did.’ I reply harshly, looking at Fen meaningfully. ‘I would much rather be dead than anyone’s toy.’

He flinches, and bows with formal flourish disregarding the onlookers - among them Morrigan and Vivienne, observing us with widened eyes and frowns.

‘Forgive me. I seem to have overstepped my bounds.’ His expression is contrite, but it does nothing to lessen my anger. I know he can school his face with masterful precision to express all and any emotion; and as such I can’t trust it. While the look in his eyes seems genuine, Fen simply should not have pushed me this early.

‘You did. See that it does not happen again.’ I grit out my disapproval, and whirl around striding away. The crowd parts for me making way for my passage.

Finding Cole in this mass of a fortress would have been a challenge, but I have our bond as a guiding beacon. I find him atop of the keep, staying out of the way and yet remaining watchful for any opportunity to lend his assistance.

‘Pride. I am glad to see that you are well.’ The spirit embraces me readily, and I sink into his arms exhaling my frustration, carefully omitting thinking about the darkness dwelling within me which has caused him so much worry. His clean-cut, supportive self is a balm on my wounds… But as much as I would like to indulge in his presence, I have come for a reason.

‘I need you to do me a favour, Cole.’ I fish out two items from my satchel, and give them to him. Cole looks without understanding at the uneven pieces of one of June’s Orbs in his hands.

‘The final confrontation is upon us - sooner rather than later. I need you to use the upheaval of the victory to replace the Orb Corypheus has had with these, and give the original one to Fen.’ I explain quietly.

‘They will be angry.’ Cole lifts his head to look at me with quiet plea in his eyes, but I shake my head decisively.

‘They are not to know about this at all, Cole. Use your unique abilities to make them **forget** that you were there at all.’

The spirit boy wavers in front of me. I feel a tug of my conscience for putting him in this position, but unfortunately, there’s no better alternative to follow through with this plan.

‘It is non-negotiable.’ I add firmly, and finally see him sag and nod his reluctant agreement. ‘Thank you, Cole. This will buy us a lot of time.’

‘You are very certain of our victory.’ Cole notes, foregoing any comments about my gratitude. And is that a hint of anger I can feel from the other end of our bond? Why, yes, by the gods, the child seems to be growing up!

I suppose I ought not rejoice about being the cause of his anger, and I firmly promise myself to somehow make it up for him. But overall, it is much more emotional progres than he has made for a long time, and I am proud of him.

And a first step would be answering his questioning statement.

‘I have never doubted our final victory, my dear Compassion.’ I reply, feeding our bond with my certainty of Fen and masterful planning. Cole brightens, his anger fading in the face of my trust in the wolf.

‘I will do as you ask.’ He reaffirms his promise, and I smile, glad to see him reconciled with this necessity. Deceit is not in his nature, and requesting it of him was a strain over our friendship. I am glad he did not take it too badly.

With all my plans set in motion I depart Skyhold. Leliana has requested a little errand of me on my way back to Minrathous - it requires going a little out of the way, to Emprise du Lion, but not so far I would deny her. Apparently some Venatori operation has been going on it this area, and Inquisition with their current call at arms to deal with the situation in the Temple has no resources to spare to shut it down.

I find the trouble in the area more than just a minor inconvenience, in spite of Leliana’s words to the contrary. Dragons, Venatori forces, and a Demon added to the mix, if words of the locals are to be believed. I immediately decide to forget about the dragons - the small detachment of Wings I have brought along with me from Halamshiral is nowhere near enough for hunting down these flying beasts. But the Venatori can’t be left alone here, so we proceed to clear out the camps in the vicinity.

They retreat to Sulendin Keep, an old fortress similar in design to other old Dalish structures. Firmly bound to the ground and far from the skill of the Ancients, but still quite pretty.

Dispatching of them is not a hard task at all; Bianca’s gift once again proving its immense usefulness against people encased in steel. Attacking from the distance gives me an increased measure of security, as I have no need to come within their striking distance now. With the people I’ve brought along providing a reliable backup, we have the place conquered by the sundawn.

Aside from the demon, holding the last crucial location. But I dismiss my underlings from this fight, knowing them to be more of a deterrent than asset. I couldn’t keep worrying about them succumbing to his incentives during the battle. With a raised head I enter the open area where the demonic energy can be felt - the damn thing is quite powerful.

‘Ah, what an unlikely guest. Welcome, welcome, Pride. Are you here to sample my hospitality? I have plenty to offer - power, riches, and many others - whatever your heart desires.’

His assumed body twists in unnatural, nauseating angle betraying his inhuman nature. But there’s something vaguely familiar about him, I just can’t put my finger on it. I did not have much exposure to the demons in the past… or at least not much where the demon lived to tell the tale. And then it clicks in, and I recall my much misguided attempt of understanding demon nature by talking with one of their kind, many centuries ago in Minrathous - before its fall.

‘I believe you have lied to me, Desire… Or should I call you Imshael?’

‘Whatever makes you comfortable, Pride.’ He smiles in faux benevolence. It looks out of place on his face, distorting the illusion of civility on it. The falseness seeps into his expression, making it a grimace merely imitating pleasantness. ‘What would I have, presumably, lied to you about?’

‘It is quite dubious I had managed to accidentally trap a higher demon such as yourself, skilless as I was.’

His face scrunches into a purely demonic grimace one could, with a certain dose of goodwill, liken to a smile.

‘I might have stretched the facts there.’ He admits easily with a nod.

‘Then why have you come?’ I remain conscious of his contrary nature and natural propensity towards lying, but there’s something I am missing here.

He shrugs neutrally.

‘You can’t deny me the curiosity towards one responsible for my existence.’

I gape in disbelief.

‘Excuse me?’

He smiles again, and I shudder in revulsion. It is no more enticing the second time around.

‘I am the desire of an Evanuris named June; a tangible form of his wishes. I am Imshael; an Unfulfilled Dream.’

The implications of his words scare me. Does it mean I ought to take responsibility for all his actions? And if one takes into account the claims that he was one of the first demons to ever appear... Am I truly responsible for unleashing the demonic blight upon this world? Really?

But I soon decide that such thinking is too self-centered. It is quite unbelievable that I could have such direct impact upon the world without intending to. No, it is far likely that the Creators themselves have interfered - for their own reasons - or that demons were always there, merely hidden from sight. So I shake off these confused musings, focusing on the task at hand.

‘I cannot allow you to continue sowing seeds of Chaos in this region any longer, Imshael.’

‘So you would destroy me. That is rather cruel of you, Pride. Especially since you are the one responsible for my existence.’ In spite of the accusations, there’s no heat in his words; and his features are that of resignation rather than conviction. He knows it shall have no effect on me.

And it doesn’t; I shrug neutrally, reaching to my mana. I have been called much worse; and certainly I won’t allow words of demon, of all things, to shake my resolution.

It comes to my call readily; while I have been using it liberally throughout the day, my reserves remain sufficient for this last confrontation. Imshael levitates off the ground, curling into himself awkwardly and bursting into small explosion of black power. His human form sheds, skin crumbling and decaying, giving way to ashen, spiky features of a demon. He is beautiful; with wings as black as night, and his inhuman visage sculptured into skewed lines of June’s face. Not exactly like my Golden God; broken and dark and **false** but definitely reminiscent of what I remember.

For all his big talk, Imshael is not much of a challenge. I do not know whether he has been expanding his energy to freely in his pursuit of a safe stronghold in Emprise du Lion; but he is less that I expected. I easily dance away from his bursts of energy, while tearing his wings apart and reducing his mobility. Until he can’t dodge Bianca’s lyrium string anymore, and I have him bound and helpless, splurting black goo from the many lesser wounds on his body.

But that’s when I stop, shying away from the final blow. I do not know what motivates me; whether some of his treacherous words have permeated into my subconsciousness, or whether there is something different altogether. He laughs, sneering at my hesitation with pointed ridicule.

‘Has Pride the Magnificent finally found her conscience? Spare me your sanctimonious pity and finish this.’

‘Do you want to die?’ I ask neutrally. I can’t really see an alternative; but his needling awakens my curiosity. Demons are survivalists - or at least, I’ve always seen them as such. Many have begged for my mercy; protested their fate. Imshael does not, and it contrary to what I’ve always known about them.

He looks at me unrepentant, still bound and bleeding - and I can see spasms of his strange body. Interesting, how I have never considered it before… But do demons feel pain, as we do?

‘Dying by your hand does not seem that bad.’ Imshael says finally; but it does little towards strengthening my resolve. If anything, my doubts just increase. But I still have trouble naming them - naming what troubles me. The demon immobilized by my string and heaving with a pool of black substance rapidly increasing under his feet does it for me.

‘Tell me, Pride - why are you willing to extend your graciousness towards spirits, but demons remain outside of it, unconsidered? We do not differ that greatly from them.’

‘Because your chief motivation is selfishness, ultimately leading to destruction.’ I announce impatiently, biting on my lip. Do I owe them any of my consideration in such circumstances?

‘Yet you do not condemn humans for their selfishness, when it can lead to much greater devastation than any action undertaken by a demon. You forget; there’s nothing we can do in this world without explicit, at least initial, permission of our host. Our deeds are only as terrible as the wishes of those who summon us to their aid demand; much like spirits. And much like spirits we seek to free ourselves of these chains by gaining independence of those who summon us. Are we really so very different?’

Stated that way… Not so very different, no. I recall my wolf considering the similarities of their natures in the past; moreover, I had just a very clear sign that a spirit can become demon. It could work both ways; in fact I see no reason why it wouldn’t. And if their natures are so interchangeable, so easily transcending beyond the clean boundaries… Is my universal condemnation of all things demonic so warranted? I can’t believe so.

It is worrisome I have been plagued by doubts regarding humans while there might exists much more worthy subjects I have completely omitted in my thoughts. Torn apart without sparing them a single one.

‘Your Compassion; he too is capable of cruelty and vengeance. And I would like to be able to exist without having to worry about my future. I was born out of desire for you; and I will constantly feel yearning for your affection, to have a part of your soul. It has given me a purpose - insurmountable, but a clear one. But I am among those fortunate; for at least I know what motivates me, understand myself. Many lesser demons - based on weaker desires - have not been granted such clarity.

Dying by your hand comes as close to my desire as it can be; for at least I know I will be remembered by you. Remain with you for some time.’  

This unexpected return to my question, a full circle leading back and explaining his reply astounds me; and my paradigms shift. He is just as expressive of an individual as Cole - if not more, with his greater understanding of human nature. Can I blame him for likely devouring his host, when in truth it was likely the stupid human’s fault for falling prey to his weakness? I cannot. And the demons do not have any alternative for gaining foothold on this side - although I suppose they could shape their vessels the way spirits can; had it not been for the impatience, written into their nature.

Well then. How about they gain an alternative?

It is risky, the plan that flashes through my head. Fen would be at my back and growling at me for even thinking about it - but the certainty of his disapproval only reinforces my faith I should proceed with it. Fen with his penchant for definitions sometimes gets lost on the muddier waters; like during the situation with Cole.

But first, I need to know I have demon’s agreement.

‘I do have an offer for you.’ I say finally, and lower some of my barriers allowing Imshael to take a gleam of my surface thoughts, rather than just emotions. His eyes widen as he comprehends what I have in mind. Without hesitation, he nearly moans out an excited.

‘Yes.’

‘I need you to swear to me that you will not act in any way which would be contrary to my wishes.’

‘Yes, yes yes. Anything, Pride.’ A feverish gleam in his eyes makes me worried whether the extensive wounds might have impaired his judgement; but when Imshael catches onto this, he barks out in laugh.

‘Do not be ludicrous. They are severe; but have nothing to do with this. Recall my words: you have just offered me the very thing I’ve been yearning for all along. How could I refuse? How could I hesitate with such a gift?’

‘If you are certain.’

I proceed with carving out the glyphs around him - going as far as letting go of the binds around him. But Imshael doesn’t attempt to move, lying on the ground in his own blood, observing as I complete the circle. It is good that the ritual I’ve done with Cole is so fresh in my memory - and that Fen was so thorough in his explanations. Once the preparations are done, I reach to the faint reminder of my mana, a bit uneasy whether it will prove enough to fuel the ritual yet unwilling to use lyrium until it proves absolutely necessary. Unexpectedly, when my own power falters in the midst of it, another strength - dark and toe curling, yet somehow seductive and undeniably Imshael - joins it, and pushes the magic into the proper lines under my direction. I lift my head and see Imshael, eagerly assisting me in the completion of the process - and can’t help a small smile. We have speculated on such possibility with Fen, but decided to go to place saturated with Fade to avoid necessity of it - and now I can see that a willing participant **can** strengthen bond creation from his end.

It falls into place with a slight tug on my soul; and again, a words not mine yet benefitting the situation are torn from my throat without my conscious participation.

‘Welcome, child of Aether.’

I really need to figure out what is the meaning of this; I hate being involved in something so profound without any understanding.

For all his wounds Imshael performs a perfunctory bow; but for all his nonchalance I know he is sincere in this action of obeisance. However I forget about it once the echo of his pain transmits through the bond I rush to his side. Reaching to my sack I proceed to clean and aid his wounds, acting more on an autopilot and disregarding his saccharine smirk. There’s a satisfaction there; but also gratitude, even if he wouldn’t be caught dead admitting it.

The bond is much like the one I have with Cole; none of us having any troubles retaining our separate selves even as Imshael latches onto my soul with greediness much more distinct than my Compassion. It is slightly uncomfortable at first, how he drinks our bond with pleasure; but I get used to the sensation, and he stops being so desperate, soothed by the piece of myself I am sharing with him. And he curls around in his spot, purring with satisfaction and no longer inconveniencing me with his demands.

He is undisputably different from Cole. A darker presence; but as I reconciled myself with the parts of me which were selfish and cruel, I do not deny him that spot. There’s time and place for Compassion; and there’s time and place for Desire.

I do not think it would have been quite this easy beforehand; but I have been forced into accepting myself as a whole; and Imshael fits right in with the darkness lingering in my soul. It is still there, not dissipated but just the same, no longer threatening to swallow me whole. And neither is Imshael; content with what I have given him of myself.

Our relationship differs than the one I have with Cole; it’s hardly surprising. Imshael knows I will call on for his services in exchange; he expects it. But it is only natural that my bond with Spirit would be based on selflessness and our wish to help each other while my bond with a Demon is rooted in selfishness and mutual benefits we achieve by it. Imshael knows I will protect him to appease my own guilt of disregarding demons thus far; and just the same he will protect me for his own comfort. It might not be a pure, clean bond - but I am glad for it nonetheless.

We take a couple of days for his wounds to patch up and strength to return. I have been right in my initial assessment - Imshael is quite powerful. But he had overextended himself recently; and that’s why I had such an easy time with him. When his illusion of humanity falls back in place I deem us ready to return to Minrathous.

Imshael speaks little, satisfied with expressing himself through our bond. Mortals hold almost no interest to him, at most regarded as curiosities; he is much more focused on maintaining my well-being above anything else. He explains one day that my good mood balances the bond, and as such it is in his best interest to attend to my wishes.

I smile under my nose knowing that Imshael is, almost in spite of himself, pretty fond of me. It’s not merely that I am a fulfilment of his existence, no matter what he claims - the bond does not lie. And it is strong, even stronger than the one I have with Cole. It would not be that way had he cared merely about his convenience; even if it undoubtedly remains his chief concern.

If my fellow Wings are surprised by the new shadow I have gained, they say almost nothing. Nervlis mutters about my tendencies of gathering strays, but otherwise is very content to transfer the reins of organization back into my hands and fade back into his regular duties.

I hide my smirk at this. Nervlis is closer to the truth than he believes - for I have gained a faithful dog, ready to tear apart anything in my way. Go figure. I wouldn’t have expected loyalty from demon of all things - and yet here I am.

Days pass. Inquisition manages to achieve victory in the Temple of Mythal - costly one, just as I hoped, but a victory nonetheless. Sentinels with Abelas still leading them have disappeared from the ruins; likely returning to their mistress’ side. And Corypheus vanished off the face of Thedas.

Dagna reports that they have found a solution to fallen Magister’s pet dragon, although she is sketchy on the details. I am not surprised that Inquisition is reluctant to admit their reliance on Elvhen god’s assistance in this; it would get a decidedly mixed reception from their followers. But I put it off my mind as not my concern, focusing on rebuilding Wing’s power base in Rivain with enthusiastic assistance of Bethany, while her lover keeps watch over Qunari movement on the continent.

When a month later ferocious joy transmits through my bond through Cole, I pause in the middle of writing and ensure that I am correctly understanding the vague message from him. Imshael in the corner lifts his head questioningly, noting my absentmindedness with furrowed brow.

‘It is done.’

‘I’ve never really liked Corypheus. He was much too… pretentious.’ The demon flicks his hand dismissively, and I laugh.

What a fitting epitaph for the misguided creature.

I suppose my life will finally return to normal… Or as normal as it gets when one keeps surrounding themselves with spirits, demons, and other supernatural entities.

I smile again, and pick up my quill.

Time to get back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well! A lot has happened in this slightly longer chapter, didn't it? I hope I have managed to gain your curiosity where this is all leading; enough to pick up Beyond when we get there.  
> And yes, I know that Imshael's form was pretty ugly in the game - pretty unlike any desire demon we've seen so far. I made it different, and I do not think I am going to explain it too much. Think what you will - that the form in the game was one he takes to battle; or maybe he is powerful enough to influence his form; or maybe it was an illusion. I see him as rather good-looking -> like any proper desire demon ought to be, methinks. OH, we, I'm rambling - sorry. I made my choice; and in any case, I needed him. I had this scene written right after the one in Minrathous in chapter... whatever it was when Pride was playing with blood magic.  
> And no; this is not a final chapter. There will be an epilogue to Pride before we move on to the next story.  
> I know there are many issues that still remain unresolved; why is Fen doing what he is doing; will (how?) he and Fean’Na make up; what’s up with Valeria, to name a few. Do not worry, I have plans to answer most of these doubts (I certainly hope it will be to your satisfaction in the end).  
> I hate cliffhanger endings more than anything and Pride will not end up with one of them, I promise.


	60. Distant Pride

**Distant Pride**

Looking down on my desk, I scrunch my face in distaste. I’ve been putting this off long enough; it is high time to face the reality. Picking up the quill and sharpening it mechanically, I purse my lips in concentrations while Imshael wordlessly brings me a clean sheet of paper to write on.

 _Dearest friends in the Inquisition,_ I begin, and yes, the irony in here is quite intentional. We’ve been far from friendly, me and Ellana, and with most of them I have a cautiously neutral relationship. Only Varric - and I suppose Blackwall - bear me no ill will; even Dorian has been in a pout about me and my actions as of recent. Which, now that I consider it, needs to be remedied.

_My best wishes to Divine Victoria on her raise to the office. I see no better Candidate than Lady Pentaghast, and the prayers of many will accompany her in the hard task of bringing the Chantry back to its former glory._

Prayers, and hopefully not much else, if I have anything to do with it. I am not Cassandra’s enemy; I actually consider her a very decent person. Unfortunately, our positions place us on the opposite ends of the barricade.

 _It has been quite an interesting_ \- and trying, but there’s no need to pour salt over the wounds and be more unkind than necessary to get the point across - _time, for all of us. Alas, -_ or not so much - _with Corypheus demise, it is time for our alliance to come to an end. The Wings are, and shall remain predominantly Tevinter organisation, and as such our continued association will have a negative impact on reputation - on both sides, I would assume._

_Allow me to give you one last warning about the Qunari within your ranks. Do not trust them. Now that the threat of Magister is gone, and your goals do not align, they will pursue their own tasks even more vigorously. I need not elaborate on these, as Par Vollen has never hesitated from stating them outright._

_And now, with this final duty dispensed, I bid you goodbye. I will not lie and say it has always been a pleasure - we all know there were times when it was quite opposite. Regardless of our mutual dislike, I wish you the very best in your endeavours. -_ I am definitely stretching the truth here. - _May the light of Creators shine down on your way, and hopefully our paths will not cross again in this lifetime._ \- But this wish could not be any more heartfelt, for I see no other recourse than us meeting on the battlefield. Even though I do not particularly like any of them, it does not signify wishing them dead.

_Respectfully,_

_Quicksilver_

I look over the letter once more to ensure there’s nothing too revealing in its content, before sealing the envelope close and putting it away. Biting on my lip in concentration, I begin weaving another one, as Imshael promptly replaces the sheet of paper on my desk with a fresh one.

_Dear Dorian,_

_I assume you had your fun while running away from home, but I dearly hope you are prepared to return. I believe I have been exceedingly patient with your antics, but it is high time you’ve done so. I would advise you to do so immediately, before I am forced to drag you back by force._ Threatening him might not be wise, nor encourage the desired behaviour, regardless of my readiness to follow through on the threat. After a moment of deliberation I cross out the last sentence and instead begin explaining my stance.

_It is not only because of my thorough distaste for the Inquisition that I insist on your prompt departure - although it assuredly has some impact. No, it is much more for your safety than anything else. Now that your assistance to the Inquisition have been broadcasted so publicly, you are in considerable danger. Your father has enemies; and his apparent alliance with Magister Lucanus makes you, by an extension, also allied to Tessarian. I need not explain that he has an even wider range of opponents, and they would hesitate at nothing to weaken the Magister. If I wasn’t blatant enough thus far - yes, removing you from the equation counts as a possible - and perfectly acceptable - measure._

_I understand that Ellana was keen on rewarding all of her faithful companions for their part in the victory - give credit where credit is due - but she has really done you no favours. I am quite certain you will find yourself ostracized for the first couple of months upon your return; but do not allow it to dissuade you. You are stronger than that, Dorian, even if you still have a fair share of maturing ahead of you._

_And yet what I’ve mentioned so far does not even account for the most immediate threat to your well-being - the Ben’Hassrath you’ve been… wise enough to take to your bed. If you have any illusions left as to his true character, let me disabuse you - he is a liar; a cheat; a murderer; and worst of all - a spy. He has taken part in numerous heists and terrorist activities, wrecking considerable damage wherever he appeared._

_DO NOT LET HIM KNOW YOU ARE LEAVING. And under no circumstances betray the identity of your fiancee - it will also betray the importance Tessarian places on the alliance with your father; and your life would soon be lost. I do not believe it within my power to protect you from Iron Bull - not without betraying my hand, and I can’t afford to do that. Being with the Inquisition must have taught you some skills - use them to your advantage, and make your way back home on your own._

_I can understand that there’s some lingering resentment left in you. Your father was in the wrong, Dorian - Tessarian did not wish for you to change. And Minerva is quite happy with you preferring your own sex; I don’t know if I’ve mentioned that. So you do not have to worry about a repetition of the… unfortunate situation your father has placed you in. We’ve already expressed our complete disapproval to Magister Pavus; and he won’t attempt it again._

_I could write and write endlessly, Dorian, and still the topic would not be exhausted. But if you truly believe in the words you spoke, in Tevinter’s potential for greatness, you will not hesitate any longer. You will return and do your best to achieve the ideal we all strive for._

_I know that this is rather sudden. That you feel forced into position which you do not feel ready for. But having a choice is often an illusion, Dorian. Think of Ellana, if you had any doubts. Do you think she chose to place herself as an Inquisitor? I assure you, she did not. And yet the situation required this of her - Thedas required this of her._ Yes I am being overly dramatic here; reality was far less glorious that this illusion Fen cast about the Skyhold. But I need to convince the boy to return, and I think that using his close friend as an example will show him the similarity of their situation; make his own more bearable. _We have to sacrifice ourselves, again, and again, for things greater than us. Why? Because if we don’t, no one will. And this world will plunder into chaos, swallowed by the egoists, those following only their own desires, disrespectful of the will and well-being of those they trample along the way. It is what true idealists do – not merely preach of their values, beliefs, but also, act upon them, do everything in their strength to make them a reality. And what did you do? Run away from your responsibilities like a whiny teenager, trying to avoid the unpleasantness, all the while still having all those lofty words on your lips._

_And if that wasn’t enough, to add an insult to an injury, you have involved yourself with a mortal enemy of the empire. And you still have the audacity to preach about the greatness you would like to restore. How dare you? It is because of people like you, with little thought in their heads, and meaningless platitudes, that it fell into the sorry state it is in currently, in the first place._

I catch myself pouring too much of my resentment on those pages, and decisively scratching out the last paragraph, I continue on.

_I hope for your safe return, young Altus. The Loyalist Faction awaits your arrival with impatience; pray do not disappoint them._

_Yours in faith,_

_Quicksilver_

I sigh looking at the less-than-ideal, scratched and blotched draft of my message to Dorian. It is disjointed and far too critical, but I do not have it in me to think of anything else. Mindlessly I recreate it again, careful to omit the things I have decided to keep from the Altus. Once that task is done, I ring for a servant who takes the letters away to be sent. Stretching slightly, I go to the window, catching a whiff of fresh air while casting a hesitant glance at my desk.

‘You are not going to look at it?’ Imshael asks nonchalantly from his corner. I shrug irritably, pushing the thoughts of my own avoidance away. It does me no good to dwell on my own weaknesses… But neither does indulging them. As my shadow soon reminds me pointedly.

‘I think you should.’ The demon had, during my brief lapse of attention, taken the offending letter from the black surface of the table, and now presents it to me with a bow.

I glance again at the envelope with a script as familiar as my own. I have traced these letters many times, engraving the words written with this hand for many years, committing every detail to my memory. Bile raises to my throat as I procrastinate.

I am not ready, pulses in the back of my mind. I need more time to accept him.

Well, I do not really need to accept anything now, do I? And reading what Fen had sent me is a basic courtesy, is it not?

The fact that I have to convince myself of that makes it even more blatant that I am far from forgiving him for his manipulation.

Imshael looks at me with infinite patience in his eyes, his sharp claws extended in my direction. I sigh again, exasperated with myself, and finally take it off his hands. It’s only a letter. How bad can it really be?

I run my eyes over the flowing writing, sparing a moment to appreciate the sheer artistry of the Elvhen alphabet. It’s elegant even with the worst, most careless of penmanship; and Fen’s is anything but, only adding to its understated refinement.

It also turns out to be much longer, almost an epistolary, and anything but what I’ve expected.

_My Pride._

_I was of two minds whether to send this letter to you, since I didn’t want to increase the burden on your shoulders, or put any pressure on you. But then I have realized I_ **_needed_ ** _to explain more of myself before you, even if you weren’t willing to hear it. This letter is as much for my peace of mind, as it is for you to understand, and if you do not feel ready for my words, then pray put it away until such time comes._

I snort, reading this first paragraph. Damn manipulative wolf, fully aware that I would never balk in face of such challenge. Summoning my fortitude, even while feeling ill-prepared for this, I go on.

_The first time I became interested in you was as soon as when we’ve met. A mere wisp in front of Mythal’s grandness, an inadequate container for your bright soul; and yet even from this your innate light shined through. Trembling in fear, still your inquisitive nature got the better of you. While I was fascinated, sniffing around you - the big bad wolf everyone feared - you remained rooted in spot, your eyes following my every move. That’s when I’ve decided to try and understand what was so special about you; special enough for June to hang onto your presence so desperately. And so in my selfishness, I told Mythal what she wanted to hear - without considering your wishes to the contrary._

_I do not know how did you find it in yourself to forgive me for my involvement in your imprisonment; nonetheless I remain grateful that you did._

_I’ve kept my distance at first, wary and unwilling to betray my intentions to those in the palace - to Mythal. But as soon as word got our regarding your defiance, I knew I had to interfere; before you found a way to circumvent June’s precautions, keeping you alive. I knew - even if June did not - how far determination could push you; and I was not willing to risk it._

_Mythal was rather displeased with your stubbornness, and that allowed me an opportunity to bargain with her. I’ve negotiated my unfettered access to you in exchange… in exchange for the betterment of your condition. She had had enough of June’s tiresome whining about you, even after she has fulfilled his wish and quite ready to be done with you._

_Being with you at those days was a mixed blessing. I caught a first glimpse of your true nature shortly after, when instead of gratification at the reverence June showed you, I saw a disturbance and fear. Where others would have been overjoyed to have this power over one such as him, you were able to see the far-reaching consequences of it - and despise them and their implications. I learned to see the stopped mid-flight gestures of rejection, the grimaces you made when you bit your tongue to prevent yourself from speaking honestly, and derisive eye rolls when he said something particularly nauseating. I saw the derision and contempt you had for Mythal’s court - both for the Elvhen, bending their necks for favour, and Evanuris who revelled in their attention. And I saw the quiet pride you conducted yourself with; although I did not understand it fully until Dirthamen named it. And I grew more and more enchanted with you, all the while dreading the day when my promise to you would be fulfilled - because seeing your unrelenting perseverance, I had no doubts you would succeed in your endeavour._

_I mourned your presence when you were gone - and that mourning prompted me to create the new, Elvhen form. It was an unspoken wish, a prayer for your return; and I hoped to meet you as equal then. Not merely as a friend, because I’ve long recognised that my yearning for you meant so much more than that - you’ve enthralled the wolf so much he wanted you for himself._

_It was, of course, quite an outrageous thing to dream of; for June had the first claim on your attention. And yet, I couldn’t but feel hopeful about my chances, for you’ve given me much more attention and regard than the Golden One. But first, you had to come back._

_So I reshaped myself and prayed for your return, all the while feeling guilty for a wish so contrary to yours. What friend did it make of me, to desire something which could only bring about your unhappiness? And so, loathing myself and hoping, I longed for your presence._

_Once I’ve realized what June had done - how close he came to destroying you - I nearly tore him apart. However, I couldn’t - mainly because he would not fight back. He was so guilt-ridden and pitiful, he just accepted my blows apathetically; and that’s what stayed my hand. That, and my belief that ultimately, you would not want this to happen._

_Mythal never found out about that altercation._

_Watching you slowly climb back from the pit of oblivion was heartbreaking - the passivity, lack of any fighting spirit; uninvolved acceptance of anything that happened around. I nearly wept in relief when you finally showed signs of personality - even if it was in anger; even when you lashed out against me, blaming me for keeping you afloat when you wished to be gone._

_You were right, of course - it was selfish of me. But I could not bear the thought of you being gone; now and then, it remains unchangingly true._

_As you healed and the wounds of your soul mended, we grew closer; and what was a sliver of hope at first, turned into certainty - I knew you returned my regard, at least to some degree. I allowed myself to consider - foolishness, I know - that it, we, could remain like that forever. And then you shattered me, us, during that horrible night._

_You ought to have trusted me more, my Pride. You ought to have remembered that I am never without a plan - or three - to backup my actions. True, there was never any degree of certainty to them, but I believed - still do - that they were worth a try. Instead, you ventured to safety - regardless of the pain it brought both of us. You have chosen the way to protect both of us from our misguided sentiments towards one another, rather than try and affect the situation. And yes, I am aware it was mostly - dare I say_ **_only_ ** _\- concern for my well-being that governed your actions. You never factored yourself and your own pain into the plans; never spared yourself when deciding on the course of action. A selfish selflessness, I call it - for in this, you are blind to the suffering your careless disregard of_ **_yourself_ ** _brings others. But I digress._

_I am forced to admit I resented your lack of trust in me; and that prompted the string of females I threw in your face. And yes, it was very deliberate - and cruel - on my part; but I was unable to control my hurt. You appeared so unaffected on the surface I could not but despise the serene front you put forth._

_Watching you with June was torture, and I thought nothing could be worse than this. Until you disappeared, and I have realized I didn’t fully appreciate my fortitude - I could have endured much more to keep you around. Better to have even a glimpse of you than nothing at all._

_June’s deterioration was a like watching myself in a skewed, magnified mirror - his reaction was like my own, only increased tenfold. I held onto myself, seeing his poor example, and awaited your return._

_When the Twilight begun, I had to leave. It was excruciating, knowing that you could return at any moment; but I knew you would have wanted me to take care of the Elvhen when no one else thought of it. So I did._

_The word reached me of your return. I told you most of the things about preparation of the ritual and my unease. I remember how you gagged over the dead bodies once - but when I saw you again, you were much different. No longer so innocent, and yet still brightly burning. I basked in those moments of your approval, as you looked at me proud of what I’ve achieved for the sake of the Elvhen. What I did not tell you was that I was ready to abandon the scheme, the moment we met. I dreamed of taming your brilliant light, keeping you for myself, hiding you away from the world that might one day shatter this miraculous being you were then._

_It was a moment of weakness that made me speak of it back then, and when you rightly rejected me, you captivated my heart anew. You were so dazzling then, so glorious it was an impossibility not to defer. And I stepped back, allowing reason to return - regardless how much it hurt._

_I already spoke of the trials and uncertainty that followed, so I’ll not repeat myself here and now. The letters from you were a beacon of hope, as each time I awoke to a proof of your continuous existence and well being. I feared awakening and not finding one._

_I will not insult you by stating my reasons for keeping the truth about my plans from you - I ought to grant you leave to say your own piece. It would not be fair otherwise. Let it only be said that regardless of how we’ve changed, my regard for you only grew instead of diminishing, with time. Even as the world kept throwing higher and higher obstacles your way, you never faltered, allowing your unyielding spirit to show through more and more often. And then I couldn’t help myself anymore, even had I wanted, I couldn’t look away. It is the single truth about our relationship, my Pride - your indomitable soul shines through, and I grow more and more spellbound._

_Now, let it not be said that my letter has no other purpose but for my self-justifications and paeans to your greatness. Of the things that would be of interest to you - the losses in the Temple of Mythal were even greater than what was officially acknowledged. The trick used here was simple - they have revealed the only the casualties caused by Coryphous’s forces; Venatori, rebel mages and Red Templars. I know that you despise them but this time, Sentinels of Mythal have rendered us a great service._

_I have ensured the Inquisition did not, in fact, get a hold on the Well. A couple of well-placed comments about the possible dangers behind it, Morrigan’s obvious enthusiasm, and the witch got her wish. I believe she regrets it now.  
_

_I hope with these words, your curiosity is sated. Dagna has been a bit obvious with her questions to Ellana; and had Leliana overheard any of them, she would become very suspicious. Let the poor girl off the hook; she hardly knows what she is talking about and it makes her attempts rather transparent._

_And lastly, allow me to thank you for the help in getting the Orb back. Your plan was rather ingenious; and the gratitude for your involvement was what initially prompted this letter. I know; you wish to be left alone now._

_Thank you. Thank you for being able to push aside your fury long enough to come up with a solution to a problem I haven’t even begun solving. Thank you for being yourself, and denying Mythal’s gift to weaken everyone in the process. Thank you for caring about me even in the midst of righteous anger._

_I really can’t thank you enough, so let me show my gratitude in actions rather than words - I’ll give you time. Please do not make me wait too long, my Pride. Being apart from you is pure torture, especially when I know that you are within my reach again._

_But let there one last thing be said on the topic. You have thrice rejected me, and twice it was justified. But now that you’ve finally accepted my hand - even as a result of my trickery - I do not intend to let go, my Pride. I am unable to do so, and do not ask it of me._

_Faithfully yours,_

_Fen’Harel_

I put away Solas’s letter, biting on my lip. I can’t say I am not moved by the devotion, seeping out of the pages - even if I am fully aware it is another manipulation of his. Fen was well aware that I would not remain indifferent to his pouring out his heart in this manner. He knew that I would soften towards him, remembering that we’ve both suffered for a long time, being apart.

I attempt to be angry at this blatant scheme of his, but the flame is soon snuffed out. That he had intended on appeasing my hurt doesn’t make the words any less true - and I can feel they are honest.

I carefully fold the letter and put it back into envelope. I know I will return to it many times, seeking reassurance and comfort in the coming days. I am still not ready to go back to his side; but Fen has promised me time to recuperate. I will make use of it.

Because while he says that he is unable to let go, the truth is that neither am I. Even betrayed, even hurt, I love him.

And that means it is time to prepare for the inevitable.

It is time to leave Wings behind.

Feeling my resolve strengthen through our bond, Imshael shifts into his more humanoid form, and bows his head in obedience, awaiting my directives.

‘Come, Imshael. We have work ahead of us.’ I command calmly, and placing Fen’s letter on my desk, walk out of my office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very sorry for the long delay, but I was sick throughout December and then there was Christmas and back to work again and putting my affairs back on track after long absence...  
> Needless to say I was rather preoccupied and not feeling inspired at all.  
> This is the last chapter of Pride. I will be posting a sequel to it sometime this week, and announcement will be made here as another chapter to inform those who have subscriptions of it, so do not worry about missing it.  
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and I hope to see you back in Beyond.


	61. Author's Note

Dear friends!

For all those in doubt whether to post comments here and notes - do not hesitate. I continue reading them - and rereading, even many chapters back. I take a lot of inspiration from them for the rewrite, as I reread my favourite - and less favourite - parts of the story.

Pride is - has always been - a work of love. Love for the marvelous world of Dragon Age universum, for all its inconsistencies and faults. Love for the romance, finally not omitted from a video game but celebrated and embraced with many choices and decisions that push it onward - or backward. Love for the wonderfully written characters, fascinating and rich in history and background. It is the characters that immerse us in Thedas, I believe, first and foremost. 

It is hard to decide whether Pride was triggered by yet-another OC in Thedas story with unlikely behaviours and out-of-world stuff and, in my opinion, a lot of wasted potential. Or maybe when I have realized - finally - that with Solas’ history, his and Lavellan’s romance was… far-fetched at best. The idea was fuelled by my wish to write a believable Solas romance, because I found his character incredibly compelling and… sad. I wanted to make him happy.

And then it grew, and became more. I began with creating a character which - I hope - most people can relate to. Not very well-off; but neither terribly poor. No exceptional circumstances, nor special abilities - aside from two - her dreams, and her stubbornness.

I do not find being stubborn to be necessarily a bad trait; and from there, it became Pride. She became more and more, and grew to be what she is now.

We are not saying goodbye to Pride just yet. Her story continues; and I’m happy to announce that with note, I have posted also the first chapter of the sequel, and the final part of her saga - Beyond. I encourage all those interested in this story resolution to go on and seek your answers there. I promise to update it with regularity, or as much of it as my other commitments allow.

I hope to see you all back in Beyond, all of you who have laboriously managed to reach the final installment in Pride. I hope you will also reach to the rewrite - which is still in quite early stages, but which I am planning to finish this year. There are quite a lot of changes and additions of some scenes and a large expansion of the Arlathan Arc of Pride. So, without further ado - see you there.  



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